na 


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THE    FOWLER 


THE    FOWLER 


"Our  Soul  is  escaped  even  as  a  Bird  out  of  the 
Snare  of  the  Fowler" 


BY 


BEATRICE    HARRADEN 

Author  of 

"  SHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT,"  "  IN  VARYING  MOODS,' 
"HILDA  STRAFFORD,"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

DODD,  MEAD   AND   COMPANY 
1899 


Copyright,  1899 
BY  BEATRICE  HARRADEN 

All  rights  restrvtd 


SSntbersttg 

JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.     A   VISITOR   TO    THE    CASTLE I 

II.     THE    DEPUTY    CUSTODIAN 6 

III.     AT   THE    KING'S    HEAD 17 

IV.     THEODORE    BEVAN '   .  27 

V.     ENTER    NURSE    ISABEL 33 

VI.     A    MEETING    ON    THE    MOORS 40 

VII.     <THE    ETERNAL    BATTLE' 49 

VIII.    NORA'S  FATHER 57 

IX.     CONTAINS    A    LITTLE    GEOGRAPHY 63 

X.     ATTRACTION    AND    REPULSION 72 

XI.     THE    HISTORIAN    AWAKES 79 

XII.     THE    ANCESTORS    GIVE   TROUBLE 89 

XIII.  A    GREAT    RESPONSIBILITY 94 

XIV.  AN    AFTERNOON    AT   THE    EAGLE    CLUB       ....  99 
XV.     KINDRED    SPIRITS 107 

XVI.     THEODORE    BEVAN    INTRUDES Il8 

XVII.     NURSE    ISABEL    DELIVERS    A    MESSAGE 125 

XVIII.     A    PAGE    FROM    A   JOURNAL 136 

XIX.    GREAT-UNCLE'S  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 138 

PART   II 

I.     THEODORE    BEVAN    AGAIN 149 

II.     THE    HISTORIAN    AGAIN 157 

III.     OUT   OF    HARMONY 17! 


222S39S 


vi  Contents 

CHAP.  PAGK 

IV.  WORDS    OF   WARNING 176 

V.  NURSE    ISABEL  TAKES   AN    OUTING 185 

VI.  THE    NET   TIGHTENS 191 

VII.  ANOTHER    PAGE    FROM   A  JOURNAL 2OI 

VIII.  A    CONFESSION    OF    LOVE 204 

IX.  A    KICK   AND    A    BETROTHAL 213 

X.  MRS    MARY    SHAW   AS    COMFORTER 224 

PART   III 

I.  THE    MICROMETER 237 

II.  THE    FIRST   STEP 247 

III.  MADGE    CARSON    IN    DISTRESS 252 

IV.  THE    HISTORIAN    LOVES    AND    WORKS 265 

V.  A  HEART'S  OUTPOURING 277 

VI.  COWARDICE    .       .        • 287 

VII.  THE    REINSTATEMENT    OF    NURSE    ISABEL      ....  290 

VIII.  THE    NET    IS    BROKEN 300 

PART    IV 

I.  THE   SELLING   OF   THE    PUNCHBOWL 313 

II.  A    LETTER    FROM    HOME 320 

III.  RENEWAL 325 

IV.  GOOD  NEWS 330 

V.  WEDDING  GUESTS 340 

VI.  NATURE'S  PROMISE 344 


THE    FOWLER 
Part    I 

CHAPTER   I 

A    VISITOR    TO    THE    CASTLE 

IT  was  about  eleven  o'clock  on  a  summer  morning  when 
a  little  man  of  rather  eccentric  appearance  crossed  the 
moat  of  Graystoke  Castle,  and  finding  a  bell  hanging 
outside  the  quaint  old  gate-house,  pulled  it  violently. 
No  one  answered.  He  rang  once  more,  and  still  could 
not  gain  admittance. 

"  It  is  a  relief  to  find  that  no  one  is  living  at  high 
pressure  here,"  he  said.  "  I  will  smoke  a  cigarette,  and 
wait  patiently." 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  leaned  against  the  fence.  He 
was  unusually  short  and  slight  of  stature;  thin-drawn 
lips,  clean-shaven  face,  and  double  eye-glasses  attached 
to  broad  black  ribbon  were  his  other  characteristics. 
He  might  equally  well  have  been  taken  for  a  young 
boy  or  a  little  old  man,  until  you  looked  into  his  face 
and  knew  that  he  could  never  have  been  young  —  that, 
he  was  probably  born  at  the  age  of  thirty-six,  and  had 
remained  there  ever  since. 

He  threw  away  the  end  of  his  cigarette,  and  pulled 
the  bell  again,  this  time  with  undue  violence.  Then  a 
bolt  was  drawn,  and  the  old  gate  swung  slowly  back,  and 
a  woman  stepped  forward.  She  seemed  vexed  at  being 
disturbed. 


The  Fowler 

"  What  a  noise  you  made  with  the  bell ! "  she  said. 
"  You  nearly  frightened  me  out  of  my  wits." 

"I  wished  to  frighten  you  into  them,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  I  have  been  waiting  here  more  than  twenty  minutes. 
However,  I  do  not  make  a  complaint,  but  merely  a 
statement.  If  you  have  no  objection,  I  should  like  to 
see  the  Castle.  I  came  for  that  purpose,  and  it  would 
be  satisfactory  to  carry  out  my  intentions." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  and  took  an  instinctive 
dislike  to  him,  and,  wishing  to  be  well  rid  of  him,  deter- 
mined to  ask  her  lodger  to  show  him  over  the  Castle. 
She  left  him  standing  in  the  courtyard  whilst  she  tapped 
at  Nora  Penhurst's  door. 

"  Miss  Penhurst,"  she  said  plaintively,  "  there  be  some 
one  wanting  to  see  the  Castle,  and  I  'm  in  the  midst  of 
churning." 

"Then  of  course  you  must  not  be  disturbed,"  said 
Nora  Penhurst,  smiling  ;  and  she  threw  aside  the  book 
which  she  was  reading,  and  glanced  at  the  tiny  mirror. 

And  then  she  stepped  out  into  the  courtyard,  brandish- 
ing in  her  hand  the  key  of  the  Castle.  She  had  a  gallant 
appearance  and  a  noble  bearing  :  health  and  happiness 
and  strength  had  claimed  her  for  their  own. 

The  stranger  glanced  at  her  with  some  curiosity. 

"  You  are  the  custodian  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little  doubt- 
fully. 

"  I  am  only  the  deputy  custodian,"  she  answered, 
"  but  we  all  have  to  make  a  beginning ; "  and  without 
further  comment,  she  led  him  across  the  spacious  court- 
yard and  unlocked  the  great  door  of  the  dining-hall. 
She  seemed  to  know  her  subject  well,  and  had  made 
herself  familiar  with  the  history  as  well  as  the  archae- 
ology of  the  Castle,  which  had  been  the  home  of  one  of 
those  lords  of  the  Marches  in  Edward  the  First's  reign. 

2 


A  Visitor  to  the  Castle 

It  was  an  almost  unique  specimen  of  a  mansion  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  built  originally  for  domestic  life,  and 
fortified  afterwards ;  so  that  it  could  tell  a  tale  of 
peaceful  daily  life  and  of  troubled  times  of  foray  and 
bloodshed. 

The  stranger  listened  to  all  she  had  to  say,  and 
appeared  to  be  greatly  interested  ;  but  now  and  again 
he  smiled  cynically,  as  though  he  doubted  the  deputy 
custodian's  statements;  and  he  asked  so  many  pressing 
questions  that  it  was  evident  he  wished  to  probe  her 
knowledge  to  its  utmost  quick.  Nora  Penhurst  bore 
with  him  for  some  time,  granting  him  that  kind  of 
sublime  indulgence  which  a  lion  would  show  to  a 
mouse.  For  every  question  she  had  her  answer,  and 
when  he  tried  to  trip  her  up,  and  make  her  contradict 
herself,  she  utterly  refused  to  fall  into  the  pit.  At  last 
he  became  intolerable  over  some  detail  about  the  tracery 
of  the  windows  of  the  withdrawing-room,  and  Nora 
lost  her  patience. 

"  Little  wretch,"  she  thought,  as  she  looked  down  at 
him  from  her  heights,  "  you  are  not  going  to  snub  the 
deputy  custodian,  I  can  tell  you ! "  Then  she  said 
aloud : 

"  Of  course  I  merely  quote  from  the  guide-book.  And 
the  guide-book  merely  quotes  from  Britton's  l  Architec- 
tural Antiquities.'  Other  authorities  are  mentioned  in 
the  pamphlet  published  by  the  vicar  of  this  parish.  I 
believe  he  has  given  about  twenty-five  years  of  study 
to  the  subject.  But  no  doubt  you  can  come  and  put 
us  all  right." 

The  stranger  bit  his  lip,  and  then  answered  frankly : 

"  Most  people  think  they  can  do  that,  especially  if 
they  have  not  studied  the  subject.  Only  I  did  not 
really  mean  to  doubt  your  statements.  It  is  the  old 

3 


The  Fowler 

story  of  my  abominable  manner :  a  trouble  which  pur- 
sues me  everywhere." 

"  How  very  sad  for  you  !  "  said  the  deputy  custodian, 
with  a  gravity  mingled  with  sarcasm  which  did  not 
escape  the  notice  of  the  visitor  to  the  Castle.  "  But 
come  now,"  she  added,  genially,  "you  must  see  the 
frescoes  on  the  walls  of  the  dining-hall.  They  are 
very  interesting.  You  will  find  an  account  of  them 
on  page  8  of  the  guide-book,  or  else  you  can  ask  the 
custodian  to  enlighten  you.  She  is  rather  busy  with 
churning  to-day,  but  no  doubt,  if  you  persuade  her,  she 
will  give  you  the  benefit  of  her  eloquence." 

"  I  prefer  to  trust  to  page  8  of  the  guide-book,"  said 
the  stranger,  "  or  to  your  own  generosity." 

Nora  Penhurst  relented,  and  without  any  reluctance 
she  pointed  out  the  faint  traces  of  the  frescoes  and 
related  the  history  of  them ;  and  then  she  took  the 
stranger  up  into  the  musicians'  gallery,  where,  in  the 
old  days,  pleasing  harmonies  were  made  for  the  ban- 
queters below;  and  after  that,  she  led  him  through  a 
narrow  passage  and  up  a  steep  flight  of  steps  until 
she  reached  the  priests'  rooms,  where  she  showed  him 
the  views  from  the  windows. 

"  To  my  mind,"  she  said,  enthusiastically,  "  that  is 
the  most  beautiful  part  of  all.  I  remember  when  I 
went  to  Warwick  Castle,  my  greatest  pleasure  was  in 
looking  out  of  the  windows  on  to  the  Avon,  and  in 
seeing  those  splendid  old  cedars.  And  so  here,  although 
I  admire  every  stone  of  this  dear  old  place,  I  like  best 
to  look  at  Nature  framed  in  these  picturesque  windows. 
I  have  spent  many  happy  hours  in  these  rooms." 

"Nature  has  never  interested  me  greatly,"  he  re- 
marked. "  Human  nature,  yes :  there  indeed  you  have 
a  rare  field  for  observation  and  conjecture,  and  —  " 

4 


A  Visitor  to  the  Castle 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  there  she  was  standing  in 
the  sunshine,  a  charming,  fair  presence,  and,  for  the 
life  of  him,  he  did  not  know  how  to  catalogue  her.  He 
prided  himself  on  his  quick  and  subtle  use  of  the  mental 
microscope,  but  this  time,  the  specimen  for  analysis  could 
not  be  finished  off  in  a  mere  moment.  Who  was  she  ? 
and  what  was  she  doing  in  the  gate-house  of  the  old 
Castle  ? 

"  But  I  have  kept  you  a  long  time,"  he  added,  taking 
off  his  eye-glasses  and  readjusting  them  deliberately ; 
41  and  I  have  already  taxed  your  forbearance.  So  now  I 
wish  you  good  morning.  Will  you  receive  the  money 
for  my  admission  ?  Thanks,  I  do  not  require  any 
change.  It  can  be  divided  between  the  custodian  — 
and  the  deputy  custodian." 

Nora  stared  at  him,  and  said  scornfully : 

"  For  whom  do  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  I  understood  you  were  the  deputy  custodian,"  he 
remarked,  quietly.  "  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  made  a 
mistake." 

Then  he  opened  the  gate  and  crossed  the  drawbridge, 
whilst  Nora  stood  lost  in  amazement. 

"  What  a  little  wretch  !      How  dared  he  !  " 

But  she  was  one  of  those  happy  people  who  have  a 
true  sense  of  humour,  and  before  another  minute  was 
over,  she  was  laughing  heartily  over  the  incident. 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    DEPUTY    CUSTODIAN 

NORA  PENHURST  was  one  of  those  who  seem  to  stroll 
through  life  carrying  everything  before  them,  but  carry- 
ing it  gallantly  and  unaggressively.  At  school  she  had 
always  borne  off  the  prizes,  whether  for  sewing  or 
learning;  she  was  not  specially  diligent,  but  she  was 
specially  gifted.  She  never  cared  for  her  success,  nor 
did  she  appear  to  be  conscious  of  it ;  and  she  was  very 
much  loved.  The  little  ones  came  to  her  for  help,  and 
felt  that  her  laurels  had  not  put  a  barrier  between  herself 
and  them.  And  that  is  very  rare.  She  had  a  wonderful 
way  of  stating  things  simply,  and  a  truly  regal  way  of 
sweeping  away  difficulties.  When  she  passed  on  to  a 
High  School,  history  repeated  itself  there.  All  honours 
fell  to  her,  and  she  wore  them  with  that  easy  grace 
granted  only  to  the  few.  And  again  no  one  grudged 
her  these  laurels,  so  quietly  won  and  so  modestly  borne. 
They  called  her  "  the  girl  with  stripes  and  stars,"  and 
were  as  proud  of  her  as  generous-hearted  English  girls 
know  how  to  be.  Even  when  she  gained  the  Beresford 
Scholarship  for  Grantham  College  there  was  no  ill-will 
felt.  Amy  Birch,  who  was  just  as  clever  as  Nora,  but 
had  not  the  nerve  and  health  which  are,  after  all,  the  best 
qualifications  for  success  in  examinations  —  even  she  did 
not  grudge  Nora  her  success. 

u  Dear  old  Nora !  "  she  said,  through  her  tears  of  dis- 
appointment, "  if  any  one  else  but  you  had  got  it,  I 
should  have  hated  her.  But  with  you  it  is  different. 

6 


The  Deputy  Custodian 

Failure  is  not  meant  for  you,  and  no  one  wants  it 
for  you." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  Nora  said,  half  crying.  "  It  does 
seem  a  horrid  shame.  And  you  know  you  are  much 
cleverer  than  I  am;  but  I  am  so  strong,  and  examina- 
tions do  not  appal  me.  You  have  been  working  too 
hard  and  fretting  too  much,  and  you  are  overwrought, 
whereas  I  have  never  felt  better  in  my  life." 

"•  You  look  your  dear,  splendid  self,"  said  Amy  Birch, 
drying  her  tears ;  "  and  I  think  the  only  thing  to  be  done 
now  is  to  get  leave  to  go  out  by  ourselves  and  have 
an  ice  !  " 

And  history  repeated  itself  at  Grantham.  Nora  was 
there  for  three  years,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  was 
bracketed  equal  with  the  first  on  the  list  in  the  Classical 
Tripos.  All  her  comrades  rejoiced  in  her  success,  al- 
though she  had  worked  far  more  leisurely  than  they 
themselves.  She  had  given  plenty  of  time  to  bicycling 
and  golf  and  dressmaking.  She  was  very  particular  about 
her  appearance,  and  could  not  bear  to  wear  anything 
dowdy.  The  afternoon  before  her  Tripos,  her  friends 
found  her  finishing  off  a  new  dress. 

"  Yes,  my  dears,"  she  said  in  her  light-hearted  way, 
"  I  dare  say  you  think  me  very  frivolous ;  but  both  father 
and  I  agreed  that  I  could  not  possibly  tackle  those  Greek 
papers  in  an  old  frock.  I  should  have  been  thinking  of 
that  frock  the  whole  time.  In  this  lovely  gown  my 
mind  will  be  free  for  the  Greek  !  " 

She  was  very  merry,  and  had  an  unusual  sense  of  fun. 
It  was  not  academic,  and  some  of  the  more  sober- 
tempered  students  thought  it  out  of  place  ;  but  it  was 
very  human,  and  scholars  are  at  last  learning  to  know  that 
scholarship  and  humanity  have  something  in  common. 
That  is  a  wonderful  discovery  —  that  a  man  or  a  woman 

7 


The  Fowler 

can  be  a  scholar,  and  yet  be  a  true  human  being.  We 
shall  one  day  hear  of  a  philosopher  becoming  a  human 
being ;  and  after  that,  anything  is  possible ! 

Nora  was  human  in  another  respect,  too;  she  was 
fond  of  men. 

"  Plato  and  Aristotle  and  ^Eschylus  are  all  very  well 
in  their  way,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  do  like  to  see  some  of 
my  undergraduate  friends." 

So  on  visiting  days  she  received  these  young  men  in 
the  general  reception-room  ;  and,  judging  from  the  fun 
and  light -heartedness,  the  conversation  was  not  always 
strictly  classical. 

"  Now  I  am  ready  for  any  amount  of  work,"  she 
would  say  after  a  spell  of  fun.  "  I  feel  braced  up  for 
those  old  gentlemen  of  the  past." 

Then  she  would  shut  herself  up  in  her  study,  and 
accomplish  in  a  few  hours  what  others  mastered  with 
difficulty  in  several  days. 

At  last  her  college  days  were  ended.  She  had  gone  to 
Grantham  with  honours,  and  with  honours  she  left,  and 
at  once  obtained  work  as  a  classical  teacher  in  two  or 
three  of  the  High  Schools  of  London,  and  lived  at  home 
with  her  father  in  St  George's  Square,  Primrose  Hill. 
She  was  extremely  happy  in  her  home-life,  and  had  a  beau- 
tiful friendship  with  her  old  father,  who  had  been  every- 
thing to  her  all  her  life  —  father,  mother,  playfellow, 
and  faithful  chum.  She  was  successful  as  a  teacher, 
partly  because  there  was  nothing  of  dry  bones  about  her 
scholarship,  and  partly  because  she  had  a  wonderful  way, 
quite  her  own,  of  imparting  knowledge  to  her  pupils.  It 
was  just  as  though  she  took  people  up  in  her  strong  arms 
and  said,  "  Here,  I  '11  carry  you  any  distance.  It  is  no 
trouble  to  me."  Her  pupils  all  knew  that  she  was  a 
distinguished  scholar,  and  they  admired  and  respected 

8 


The  Deputy  Custodian 

her ;  but,  for  all  that,  it  was  her  humanity  that  won  and 
held  them  —  and  she  belonged  to  them  all  equally,  to  the 
idle  and  the  eager,  the  stupid  and  the  clever.  She  dressed 
well  for  them  too,  and  would  no  sooner  have  thought  of 

'  D 

putting  on  a  dowdy  frock  for  her  Latin  prose  lesson,  than 
of  wearing  an  unbecoming  dress  at  a  dance.  Girls  ap- 
preciate this  kind  of  attention,  and  Nora's  pupils  boasted 
a  good  deal  about  the  delightful  appearance  of  their  classi- 
cal mistress.  She  was  known  to  have  a  wholesome  in- 
fluence over  all  the  girls  with  whom  she  came  in  contact, 
and  being  thus  happy  and  successful  in  her  professional 
work,  things  had  gone  very  well  with  her.  Failure  in- 
deed, had  not  come  near  her,  and  sometimes  her  father, 
Roger  Penhurst,  used  to  shake  his  head  and  think  that 
she  was  a  little  too  self-confident  at  times,  and  that  per- 
haps she  needed  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  some  kind 
of  adversity.  Then  he  would  dismiss  such  thoughts 
from  his  mind,  and  be  astonished  at  himself  for  desiring 
any  such  experience  for  his  beloved  Nora. 

"  What  an  old  fool  I  am  to  wish  to  anticipate  the 
inevitable!"  he  would  say.  "Life  will  bring  its  own 
lessons  in  its  own  good  time." 

So  the  years  had  passed  by,  fraught  with  duties  easily 
performed  and  pleasures  perhaps  too  easily  won,  and 
to-day  Nora  was  sitting  in  the  garden  of  the  old  Castle, 
leaning  back  in  an  easy-chair,  and  dividing  her  attention 
between  examination  papers  and  afternoon  tea.  The 
Castle  collie,  Carlo,  lay  at  her  feet;  the  black  cat  sat 
blinking  at  her  ;  the  hens  and  chickens  came  creeping 
round  cautiously,  pecked  at  the  crumbs,  and  retreated. 
Nora  was  dressed  in  a  plain  black  skirt  and  a  soft  shot- 
silk  blouse.  She  wore  no  hat,  and  the  sunlight  played 
with  her  brown  hair.  She  was  fair  of  complexion. 
There  was  nothing  specially  remarkable  about  her  fea- 

9 


The  Fowler 

tures,  but  a  lovely  expression  of  frankness  lingered  in 
her  eyes  and  around  her  mouth.  It  was  that  which  was 
the  secret  of  her  beauty  —  that  and  her  gallant  bearing. 
She  looked  like  a  ship  in  full  sail,  riding  confidently  over 
the  waves,  strong  in  build  and  buoyant  in  possibilities. 

But  she  was  sleepy,  and,  having  yawned  several  times 
over  those  examination  papers,  she  pushed  them  impa- 
tiently from  her,  fell  a-thinking,  and  dozed.  Strangely 
enough,  she  recalled  what  her  old  father  had  once  said 
to  her  about  failure,  and  then,  without  any  rhyme  or 
reason,  she  suddenly  began  to  dream  of  the  little  stranger 
who  had  visited  the  Castle  yesterday.  When  she  awoke, 
she  remembered  her  dream. 

"  I  rather  wish  I  could  have  seen  him  again,"  she  said 
to  herself;  "  at  least  he  is  different  from  other  people, 
and  behaves  in  an  unexpected  manner.  I  certainly 
never  thought  he  would  make  me  a  present  of  three- 
pence, and  yet  it  was  so  neatly  done,  too,  as  a  bit  of 
revenge  for  my  refusing  to  be  annihilated  by  him.  I 
should  like  to  see  him  again,  if  only  to  tell  him  that 
people  like  himself  cannot  annihilate  people  like  me." 

Then  she  looked  up,  and  there  he  stood  before  her,  as 
though  in  answer  to  her  reverie. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  smiling  somewhat  sleepily. 

"  Well,"  he  answered. 

Without  any  further  remark  he  sat  down  on  the  bench, 
and  glanced  at  the  tea-table.  There  was  nothing  in- 
trusive about  his  manner;  he  seemed  for  the  moment 
like  a  child  who  is  sure  of  being  kindly  treated,  and 
simply  comes  in  a  natural  way  to  claim  such  kindness. 
This  was  the  impression  produced  on  Nora.  She  rose 
leisurely,  and  carried  the  teapot  into  the  kitchen  of  the 
gate-house,  and  returned  with  a  clean  cup  and  a  fresh 
brew  of  tea. 

10 


The  Deputy  Custodian 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  he  at  once  helped  himself, 
and  took  no  further  notice  of  his  hostess,  who  sank  back 
into  her  chair,  mystified  and  amused. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  thinks  this  is  a  tea-garden,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  It  would  be  interesting  to  know." 

She  turned  once  more  to  her  examination  papers,  tied 
the  corrected  ones  into  a  bundle,  and  waited  quietly  for 
further  developments,  glancing  now  and  again  at  her 
mysterious  companion,  who  sat  there,  apparently  quite 
at  ease,  and  oblivious  of  her  presence.  The  situation 
was  too  much  for  Nora's  gravity.  Her  mouth  twitched 
several  times,  and  finally  she  laughed  aloud. 

"  You  seem  merry,"  he  said,  looking  up. 

"  Thanks,  I  enjoy  pretty  good  spirits,"  she  answered, 
brightly. 

"  In  spite  of  an  afternoon's  hard  work  ? "  he  said, 
glancing  at  her  papers  piled  up  before  her. 

"  Probably  because  of  it,"  she  replied,  genially  ;  "  for 
when  you  have  corrected  fifty-three  essays  on  Ambition, 
and  have  only  forty-seven  left,  you  may  well  feel  in  good 
spirits." 

She  at  once  regretted  this  reference  to  her  own  work, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  have  noticed  her  remark. 

"  Every  day,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  as  though  he 
were  continuing  some  conversation  which  had  gone 
before,  "  life  becomes  more  complicated,  and  the  ques- 
tions which  we  have  thrust  from  us  for  so  long  now 
force  themselves  upon  us  with  irresistible  violence.  We 
are  startled  out  of  our  lethargy ;  we  begin  to  think  for 
ourselves,  and  act  for  ourselves.  We  are  no  longer 
frightened  by  time-honoured  traditions;  we  are  no 
longer  held  back  by  the  limits  placed  by  the  absurd 
previous  generations.  I  sometimes  wish  I  were  a 
woman,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  experiencing  the  sensa- 

ii 


The  Fowler 

tions  of  satisfaction  which  seem  to  possess  her  when 
she  sees  the  waves  of  possibilities  rolling  to  her  feet.  It 
must  be  thrilling  !  " 

Nora  raised  her  head  from  her  examination  papers. 

"  It  is  thrilling,"  she  said  in  her  strong,  rich 
voice. 

The  little  stranger  relapsed  into  silence,  and  helped 
himself  to  another  slice  of  bread-and-butter,  and  threw 
some  crumbs  to  the  fowls.  It  is  possible  that  he  was 
expecting  his  companion  to  make  some  further  remark, 
but  she  gave  no  outward  signs  of  wishing  to  enter  into 
conversation,  though  he  knew  from  her  bright  glance 
that  she  had  plenty  to  say  for  herself  if  she  chose  to 
begin,  but  that  she  probably  would  not  say  one  word 
unless  she  felt  so  inclined.  The  point  was  to  make  her 
feel  inclined ;  and  he  turned  many  subjects  over  in  his 
mind,  not  subjects  in  which  he  himself  was  particularly 
interested,  but  which  he  knew  were  of  immense  impor- 
tance to  many  of  the  thinking  public,  especially  to  those 
who  considered  themselves  modern.  He  himself  was 
neither  ancient  nor  modern  nor  mediaeval,  but  instinct 
told  him  that  Nora  was  modern,  not  of  the  type  usually 
seen  in  so-called  up-to-date  drawing-rooms,  and  some- 
times written  about  in  up-to-date  novels,  but  funda- 
mentally modern  for  all  that,  with  new  tendencies,  new 
ideals,  and  new  necessities.  He  had  felt  yesterday  that 
he  wished  to  know  something  about  her;  now  he  was 
determined  to  know  a  great  deal  about  her.  He  looked 
at  her,  and  knew  that  she  was  strong  and  self-reliant  ; 
and  he  had  already  felt  the  force  of  her  quiet  sarcasm  on 
the  previous  day,  and  he  saw,  from  the  amused  expression 
now  lingering  about  her  mouth,  that  she  had  some  sense 
of  fun,  and  that  she  was  probably  commenting  silently 
and  humorously  on  his  coolness  in  thus  intruding  upon 

12 


The  Deputy  Custodian 

her  solitude,  with  no  attempt  at  excuse  or  apology.  He 
knew  all  this,  and  he  enjoyed  the  situation  immensely. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  rare  resting  spot,"  he  said,  pres- 
ently, looking  at  the  old  Castle  and  the  quaint  gate- 
house, and  the  sweep  of  the  country  in  the  distance,  and 
the  river  glistening  in  the  sunshine.  "  That  is  one  of 
the  things  which  we  do  not  understand  sufficiently  well 
in  these  days,  —  to  know  how  to  rest  and  not  to  bore 
ourselves." 

u  And  yet  it  is  the  people  who  know  how  to  rest  who 
do  continuous  good  work,"  said  Nora. 

"  Wonderful  things  have  been  said  and  done  by  rest- 
less souls,"  he  answered. 

"  And  still  more  wonderful  things  have  been  said  and 
done  by  them  when  circumstances  have  conspired  to- 
gether to  enforce  rest  upon  them,"  Nora  replied. 

"  Then  you  believe  in  the  Gospel  of  Rest  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Absolutely,"  she  answered,  "  and  if  I  had  the  money 
and  wished  to  be  philanthropic,  I  should  start  a  House 
of  Rest  for  Tired  Humanity.  But  I  have  not  any 
money,  and  I  have  n't  any  desire  to  be  philanthropic." 

u  It  would  be  an  experience,"  he  said. 

"  Experience  is  n't  everything,"  she  answered. 

"  It  is  everything,"  he  replied.  "  And  I  think  no 
one  should  be  frightened  of  experiences,  no  matter  what 
they  are,  no  matter  how  unhappy  or  how  happy.  Re- 
garded from  that  point  of  view,  life  may  be  regarded 
as  altogether  satisfactory.  There  is  no  question  then 
about  life  being  a  burden  ;  we  are  caught  up  on  wings, 
and  have  to  carry  no  burdens.  You,  like  the  rest  of  us, 
must  have  often  felt  the  burden  of  living." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  ever  known  much  about 
the  burden  of  living,"  Nora  said,  "  though  I  have  heard 

'3 


The  Fowler 

these  mysterious  words  used  frequently  by  my  friends. 
I  have  always  put  them  in  the  same  category  as  those 
mystic  phrases  of  the  Theosophists.  My  dearest  friend, 
who,  during  the  last  epidemic  of  women's  books,  wrote 
one  of  the  most  miserable  and  most  successful,  was  al- 
ways talking  about  the  c  burden  of  living.'  I  must  say, 
however,  that  since  the  success  of  her  book,  her  spirits 
have  considerably  improved :  but  I  believe  it  is  a  known 
fact  that  six  editions  have  a  wonderful  effect  on  nervous 
depression,  altering  one's  whole  way  of  looking  at  exist- 
ence. I  never  thought  much  of  the  book  until  I  saw 
what  good  it  had  done  her.  We  went  away  for  a  week 
together  last  Easter,  and  she  fairly  surprised  me  by  her 
frivolity.  I  cannot  imagine  what  will  become  of  her  if 
she  writes  another  book  as  dismal  and  successful  as  the 
last.  She  is  in  Sweden  at  present,  amongst  a  little  group 
of  Ibsen  friends ;  and,  thanks  to  your  present  of  three- 
pence yesterday,  I  was  able  to  write  her  a  letter  which  I 
am  going  to  take  to  the  post-office  in  a  few  moments." 

He  smiled  almost  imperceptibly,  and  there  came  an- 
other pause.  Then  he  said  : 

"  You  are  lucky  not  to  be  feeling  weighed  down  like 
most  of  us,  and  still  luckier  in  being  spared  the  neces- 
sity of  writing  a  depressing  book  to  improve  your  animal 
spirits.  Things  must  certainly  have  gone  very  easily 
for  you." 

"  Yes,  they  have,"  said  Nora,  eagerly.  "  To  begin 
with,  I  have  had  the  happiest  home  life  that  ever  fell  to 
the  share  of  mortal  maid.  I  have  the  most  splendid  old 
father,  quite  different  from  anybody  else's  father,  I  am 
thankful  to  say,  and  I  have  inherited  from  him  an  appre- 
ciation of  life,  and  a  genius  for  enjoying  myself  and 
finding  pleasure  in  everything,  even  in  the  mere  fact 
that  I  live  and  am  strong,  and  can  work  and  play  to  my 


The  Deputy  Custodian 

heart's  content,  without  any  effort,  without  any  restraint. 
I  have  enjoyed  myself  with  people,  and  with  books,  and 
with  myself.  The  city  is  mine,  and  the  country  is  mine 
too.  The  best  musicians  have  played  for  me ;  the  best 
actors  have  acted  for  me ;  the  best  painters  have  painted 
for  me :  in  the  country  the  birds  have  sung  for  me,  the 
heather  has  bloomed  for  me,  and  for  my  sake,  the  gorse 
has  taken  unto  itself  a  still  more  golden  hue.  I  have 
been  up  at  daybreak  enjoying  the  early  freshness  of  the 
morning,  breathing  in  contentment  and  happiness ;  I 
have  wandered  in  the  woods  and  bathed  myself  in  the 
greenness  of  the  trees,  and  I  have  stretched  myself  on 
the  ground  and  tried  to  make  the  birds  and  squirrels  be- 
lieve that  I  was  really  part  and  parcel  of  the  woods  ;  I 
have  learned  how  to  call  the  birds — "  She  stopped. 
"  But  I  have  no  right  to  trouble  you  with  a  list  of  my 
pleasures  and  accomplishments,"  she  added. 

The  little  stranger  seemed  lost  in  thought,  and  then  he 
said: 

"  Surely,  surely  you  are  an  anachronism." 

"  I  have  always  thought,"  continued  Nora,  more  to 
herself  than  to  him,  "  that  there  was  only  one  thing 
which  could  break  my  spirit  and  wound  me  beyond  all 
healing :  to  live  on  and  yet  not  to  care  for  life  —  to  live 
on  and  be  listless,  taking  no  interest  in  one's  surroundings, 
having  no  part  in  one's  rich  inheritance  of  appreciation 
for  all  things  beautiful  in  nature  and  art  and  human  com- 
panionship, and  everything,  in  fact,  that  life  has  to  offer. 
I  could  bear  any  deprivation,  any  grief,  except  that  grief; 
for  indifference  means  paralysis  of  the  soul,  and  I  should 
dread  that  illness  beyond  any  other." 

"  Then  it  follows,  as  a  matter  of  course,"  her  com- 
panion said  slowly,  "  that  this  is  the  illness  which  will 
certainly  come  to  you  in  the  fulness  of  time.  It  comes 

'5 


The  Fowler 

to  most  of  us :  some  of  us  recover,  and  others  of  us 
never  recover.  Which  will  you  do,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  It  shall  never  come  to  me,"  she  answered,  almost 
savagely,  and  she  rose  from  her  chair  and  looked  down 
at  him  with  fierce  determination. 

"  Ah,  do  not  boast,"  he  replied,  smiling,  as  he  too  rose. 
"And  when  it  comes,  treat  it  merely  as  an  experience. 
Then  you  will  be  caught  up  on  wings." 


At  the  King's  Head 


CHAPTER   III 

AT    THE    KING'S    HEAD 

IT  was  an  open  secret  in  Graystoke  that  the  Punchbowl 
was  courting  the  King's  Head.  The  Punchbowl  did 
not  do  things  in  a  hurry,  but  that  was  the  way  in  Gray- 
stoke,  and  what  a  happy  contrast  with  the  undignified 
haste  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  King's  Head  did 
not  give  unqualified  encouragement.  There  were  sev- 
eral objections  to  the  Punchbowl :  the  position  of  the 
inn  was  bleak  and  lonely,  whereas  the  King's  Head 
nestled  cosily  in  a  sheltered  quarter  of  the  village.  Still, 
there  was  something  to  say  for  the  Punchbowl,  and  there 
was  a  great  deal  to  say  for  Mr  William  Parrington. 
And  then,  even  in  the  bustle  of  a  busy  life,  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw  was  lonely;  though  she  still  rejoiced  in  a  great- 
uncle,  a  great-great-aunt,  a  father,  and  a  son.  Her  son 
was  a  good  little  lad,  but  she  had  a  firm  conviction  that 
he  would  grow  up  to  be  a  bad  man,  following  the  ex- 
ample of  his  father,  who  had  deserted  his  wife  more  than 
twelve  years  ago. 

"  Ah,  Wullie  is  a  good  lad,"  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  would 
say  with  a  sigh,  "  and  tc  think  that  he  '11  grow  up  to  be 
a  bad  man  !  He  has  his  father's  own  face,  and  the 
same  terrible  pleasant  way  about  him.  There 's  no 
escaping  being  your  father's  own  son." 

These  remarks  were  generally  made  in  Wullie's  pres- 
ence, and  he  always  laughed.  Mrs  Shaw  laughed  too, 
for  she  was  a  cheery  soul,  and  took  things  very  much 
as  they  came.  Life  had  not  been  easy  for  the  landlady 
2  17 


The  Fowler 

of  the  King's  Head,  but  she  had  made  something  merry 
out  of  it  for  herself  and  others,  stretching  out  her  hands 
to  help  every  one  and  everything.  She  must  have  had 
an  excellent  nervous  system,  for  the  grumblings  of  her 
three  generations  of  "  ancestors  "  never  gave  her  one 
moment's  irritation.  "  Great-great-aunts,  great-uncles, 
and  fathers  always  grumble,"  she  said.  "  It  be  some- 
thing for  them  to  do,  bless  'em,  and  I  don't  see  why 
they  should  not  enjoy  themselves :  folks  must  have  an 
occupation."  The  dogs  in  the  village  were  rather  exact- 
ing ;  indeed  Ship,  the  blacksmith's  collie,  had  almost  taken 
up  his  quarters  at  the  King's  Head,  and  lay  full  length  be- 
fore the  entrance,  angry  if  any  one  dared  to  disturb  him. 
Mrs  Shaw  did  not  allow  him  to  be  interfered  with. 

"  That's  his  way,"  she  said.  "  People  can't  be 
broke  of  their  habits."  The  carpenter's  cock  too  was 
very  demanding.  He  strutted  up  and  down,  and  crowed 
loudly  when  any  one  came  to  the  inn,  so  that  Mrs 
Shaw  said  he  was  as  handy  as  a  front-bell.  But  in 
return  for  this  service  he  expected  to  have  refreshments 
at  least  every  hour;  and  if  no  one  attended  to  him,  he 
sneaked  into  the  kitchen  and  grabbed  at  what  he  could 
find,  very  much  like  the  rest  of  humanity. 

"  That's  his  way,"  Mrs  Shaw  said,  with  her  usual 
good-humour. 

The  children  were  always  lying  in  wait  for  cakes  and 
"  fat-rascals,"  and  other  local  dainties ;  and  their  per- 
sistence would  have  tried  the  patience  of  most  people. 
But  Mrs  Shaw  said : 

"That's  their  way,  bless  'em.     It's  natural  enough." 

She  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  an  almost  sublime  respect 
and  indulgence  for  every  kind  of  human  characteristic ;  and 
there  was  no  bitterness  even  in  her  memory  of  her  hus- 
band, who  had  left  her  so  cruelly  a  few  months  after  her 

18 


At  the  King's  Head 

marriage.  In  fact  it  was  said  by  David  the  blacksmith 
that  if  any  one  had  dared  to  criticise  Mary  Shaw's  hus- 
band in  her  presence,  she  would  have  answered  as  usual : 

"  Ah  well,  that  was  just  his  way  —  poor  creature  !  " 

But  for  all  her  cheery  manner  of  looking  at  life,  and 
in  spite  of  the  immense  comfort  of  having  three  genera- 
tions of  ancestors,  and  one  descendant  who  in  a  few  years 
would  be  sure  to  turn  out  badly,  and  in  spite  too  of  being 
the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head,  where,  during  some  part 
of  the  year,  a  brisk  business  was  done,  and  where  even 
the  teetotallers  came  to  drink  an  occasional  glass  of  port : 
in  spite  of  all  these  advantages,  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  often 
felt  lonely,  and  sometimes  retreated  into  the  arm-chair 
and  threw  her  apron  over  her  face,  which  was  her  mode 
of  expressing  weariness  of  the  flesh  and  spirit,  combined 
with  a  subtle  realisation  of  the  vanity  of  everything  human 
and  the  uselessness  of  going  on  day  after  day  striving  — 
and  for  what  ? 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions,  when  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw  had  been  resting  in  the  arm-chair,  covering  her  face 
with  her  apron,  that  Mr  William  Parrington  strolled 
quietly  into  the  kitchen  and  took  possession  of  the  other 
arm-chair.  Mrs.  Shaw  thought  she  was  alone,  and  con- 
tinued her  meditations  beneath  the  apron.  Mr  Par- 
rington at  length  coughed.  The  apron  dropped,  and 
discovered  Mrs  Shaw's  winning  face,  which  bore  suspic- 
ious traces  of  tears. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  said  Parrington.    "  Is  business  bad  ? " 

"Never  was  better,"  said  the  hostess  of  the  King's 
Head,  somewhat  proudly. 

"  Has  Wullie  turned  out  a  rascal  already  ?  "  asked  the 
host  of  the  Punchbowl. 

"No,  he's  a  good  lad  so  far,"  said  Mrs  Shaw, smiling. 

"  Is  the  last  brewing  a  failure  ?  "  asked  Parrington. 
19 


The  Fowler 

"  I  never  make  no  failures,"  said  Mrs  Shaw,  scornfully. 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  life,"  said  Mrs  Shaw,  pen- 
sively. "  That 's  all." 

"That  was  what  I  was  thinking  of  yesterday,"  said 
Parrington. 

Then  there  was  silence  between  them  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  the  host  of  the  Punchbowl  drew  his  chair  a 
little  nearer  to  Mrs  Mary  Shaw. 

"  As  the  years  go  on,"  he  said,  "  people  get  rather 
lonely,  I  'm  beginning  to  think.  I  m  lonely  enough 
over  there  in  the  Punchbowl." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  It 's  not  a  situation  as  I  cares  any- 
thing about,"  said  the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head,  bright- 
ening up  again.  "  It  catches  them  east  winds  something 
dreadful." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  against  the  Punchbowl  ?  "  asked 
Parrington. 

"  That's  all  I  can  think  of  at  this  moment,"  answered 
Mrs  Shaw,  pretending  to  shiver. 

"  Very  much  obliged,"  replied  Parrington.  Then  he 
added  quaintly,  "  Have  you  got  anything  against  me, 
Mrs  Mary  Shaw?" 

"No,  Mr.  Parrington,"  she  answered,  her  face  now 
wreathed  in  smiles. 

"  There's  no  east  wind  set  in  against  me  ?  " 

"  None,"  she  answered,  laughing. 

"  Well,"  he  said. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  asked,  though  she  knew  perfectly  what 
was  coming. 

"  Well,"  he  continued, "  if  I  was  you,  I  should  get  mar- 
ried again,  and  I  should  marry  Parrington.  You  might  do 
better  and  you  might  do  worse.  Just  you  think  it  over. 
When  you  feel  tired,  and  settle  down  for  a  little  quiet 

20 


At  the  King's  Head 

thinking,  you  just  turn  the  matter  over  in  your  mind. 
Parrington  will  take  care  of  you." 

Mrs  Mary  Shaw  looked  up  at  Mr  Parrington's  kind  face, 
and  there  were  two  tears  of  gratitude  in  her  eyes.  She  her- 
self took  care  of  every  one,  and  it  was  a  new  language  to 
her  to  hear  that  some  one  was  going  to  take  care  of  her. 

"  But  then  there  be  all  the  ancestors,  Parrington," 
she  said,  reluctantly. 

11  I'm  not  afraid  of  all  the  ancestors  as  ever  you  or  me 
had  or  was  likely  to  have,"  said  Parrington,  decisively. 

"  And  then  there  be  Wullie,"  she  said.  "  He 's  as  good 
a  lad  as  ever  breathed  —  bless  him;  but  of  course  he'll 
be  a  terrible  trouble  yet,  and  how  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  Wullie  won't  be  no  trouble  to  no  one,"  said  Par- 
rington. "  I'm  not  afraid  of  Wullie.  There  is  only 
one  thing  I  am  afraid  of." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Losing  you,"  he  answered ;  and  without  another 
word  he  hastened  away,  leaving  the  hostess  of  the  King's 
Head  gazing  into  the  fire  and  smiling,  for  she  had  always 
liked  William  Parrington,  and  though  he  had  his  one 
great  weakness  of  considering  his  own  inn  superior  to 
hers  (which  was  obviously  ridiculous),  yet  she  knew  that 
he  had  compensating  excellences,  combined  with  a  dis- 
tinguished appearance  and  a  handsome  grey  beard.  He 
had  always  been  kind  to  her  and  good  to  Wullie  ;  and 
David  the  blacksmith  declared  that  he  believed  Parring- 
ton had  been  waiting  for  Mary  Shaw  these  many  years, 
until  by  lapse  of  time  she  should  be  free  to  marry  again» 

She  was  very  pensive  after  Parrington's  proposal,  and 
looked  with  great  anxiety  at  her  ancestors,  and  still 
greater  anxiety  at  Wullie. 

Then  one  day  she  took  counsel  of  Wullie  whilst  he 
was  cutting  wood  for  her.  He  was  devotedly  attached 

21 


The  Fowler 

to  her,  and  thought  her  the  most  wonderful  person  that 
ever  lived,  and  he  understood  all  her  fun,  and  shared  all 
her  worry  when  the  ancestors  quarrelled  and  grumbled 
beyond  a  reasonable  limit. 

"  Wullie,"  she  said,  "  would  you  have  Parrington  if 
you  was  me  ?  " 

"  That  I  should,"  said  Wullie,  emphatically. 

"  You  would  n't  be  much  of  a  trouble  to  him  ?  "  asked 
Mrs  Shaw. 

"  Not  till  I  be  growed  up,"  said  Wullie,  who  was 
steeped  in  the  traditions  of  the  family. 

Then  one  day  she  gave  a  few  hints  to  her  great-uncle, 
who  sat  on  the  front  bench  smoking  a  long  clay  pipe. 

"  Great-uncle,"  she  said,  "  what  would  you  think  if  I 
married  again  ?  " 

Great-uncle  was  reading  the  Bible  at  the  time,  but  he 
put  it  down  and  said  : 

"  I  should  think  you  was  a  damned  fool,  Mary. 
That 's  what  I  should  think.  And  who  'd  there  be  to 
make  my  porridge,  I  'd  like  to  know  ? " 

Great-uncle  seemed  to  think  that  settled  the  matter, 
and  returned  to  his  long  clay  pipe  and  his  Bible. 

The  same  day  she  said  to  her  great-great-aunt,  little 
Miss  Renaldson,  who  looked  exactly  like  a  shrivelled-up 
cucumber : 

"  Aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson,  what  would  you  say  if  I 
married  again  ?  " 

Aunt  Rebeccah  put  down  her  knitting,  and  took  off 
her  horn  spectacles. 

"I  shouldn't  say  nothing,  Mary  Shaw,"  she  'an- 
swered, with  true  ancestral  gravity,  "  for  I  should  never 
speak  to  you  no  more.  And  where  'd  you  be  then  ?  " 

"  Where  I  am  now,  I  expect,"  answered  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw. 

22 


At  the  King's  Head 

"It  can't  be  done,"  continued  the  great-great-aunt, 
shaking  her  head.  "  And  besides,  who  'd  there  be  to 
wash  and  dress  me,  and  put  me  to  bed,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
Folk  can't  always  be  thinking  of  themselves.  We  aren't 
put  in  this  world  to  think  of  ourselves.  You  just  remem- 
ber that,  Mary  Shaw." 

"  She  don't  let  me  forget  it,"  thought  Mrs  Shaw. 
"  But  there  now,  it 's  her  way  !  " 

After  this  the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head  took  no 
further  counsel  from  her  relations,  but  turned  the  matter 
over  in  her  own  mind,  now  deciding  in  favour  of  Par- 
rington's  proposal,  and  now  dismissing  every  idea  of  a 
second  marriage.  Parrington  could  never  bring  her  to 
the  point,  and  often  when  he  thought  he  had  really  con- 
quered all  her  misgivings,  she  would  say  mischievously : 

"  No,  Parrington  ;  it  be  of  no  use.  I  can't  abide  them 
east  winds." 

Then  Parrington  would  leave  her  angrily  and  not  come 
to  the  King's  Head  for  a  few  days,  and  during  that  time 
she  would  go  about  singing  like  a  lark  and  full  of  fun 
and  merriment,  until  the  end  of  the  fourth  day,  when 
she  would  sit  quietly  in  the  arm-chair,  her  apron  over 
her  head,  and  Wullie  would  whisper  sympathetically, 
"Mother,  shall  I  tell  Parrington  to  come  ?  "  Then  she 
would  laugh  and  give  Wullie  a  hug,  telling  him  not  to 
dare  to  tease  her.  "  As  if  I  cared  for  the  horrid  man," 
she  would  say,  recklessly  :  "  fifty  year  old  and  bald  too  !  " 
But  to-day,  when  Wullie  came  back  from  school,  he 
found  his  mother  sitting  quietly  in  the  arm-chair,  with 
her  apron  over  her  head  —  a  sure  sign,  as  he  knew,  of 
extreme  mental  distress ;  and  she  would  not  be  coaxed 
into  any  fun,  and  she  did  not  hug  him  as  usual  and  tell 
him  that  he  was  becoming  a  terrible  bad  boy.  She 
just  sat  there  quietly,  concealing  her  kindly  features, 

23 


The  Fowler 

and  even  allowing  the  bread  in  the  oven  to  take  its 
chance. 

Wullie  stood  looking  puzzled,  and  realised  that  things 
had  indeed  come  to  a  crisis. 

"I'll  go  and  find  Mr.  Parrington,"  he  said  to  himself; 
"that'll  bring  mother  round." 

As  he  was  departing  on  this  errand  he  met  Nora, 
coming  along  towards  the  King's  Head,  in  company  with 
their  little  lodger,  to  whom  his  mother  had  taken  a  great 
dislike. 

"  Well,  Wullie,"  Nora  said,  smiling  at  him  kindly, 
"  and  how  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Nora,"  he  said,  "  she  be  awful  down  in  the 
dumps  to-day,  and  there  she  be  sitting  with  her  apron 
over  her  head." 

Then  Wullie  glanced  at  her  companion,  whom  he 
also  disliked,  and  he  drew  a  little  nearer  to  Nora's  side. 
Nora  noticed  the  movement,  and  wondered  whether  the 
stranger  was  conscious  of  the  boy's  shrinking,  but  he 
appeared  not  to  have  even  noticed  his  presence. 

"  I'll  come  in  and  cheer  up  your  mother,  Wullie,  my 
lad,"  she  said.  And  the  boy  ran  off  gladly.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  little  stranger  and  said  : 

"  All  the  same,  you  will  never  be  able  to  persuade 
me  that  acts  of  courage  are  prompted  by  feelings  of 
bounce.  .  .  ." 

He  smiled  deprecatingly,  and  passed  into  the  inn  and 
upstairs  to  his  sitting-room. 

Nora  paused  for  one  moment  on  the  threshold,  and 
many  conflicting  thoughts  about  him  came  into  her  mind ; 
but  the  last  thought  was  relief  at  being  free  from  him, 
and  she  gave  herself  a  mental  shake,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen  of  the  King's  Head,  where  she  was  always  a 
welcome  visitor.  She  had  known  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  for 

34 


At  the  King's  Head 

several  years  now,  and  felt  herself  almost  to  be  part  of 
the  village  community.  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  on  her  part, 
believed  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  like  Miss 
Nora,  or  Miss  Nora's  dear  old  father. 

"  There  ain't  another  person  like  him  in  the  world  to 
my  thinking,"  she  would  say  to  Nora  ;  "  and  I  am  sure 
I  ought  to  know,  seeing  what  experience  I  do  have  with 
ancestors  and  suchlike  people." 

This  sentiment  alone  was  a  great  bond  between  Nora 
and  herself,  but  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  was  fond  of  her  for  her 
own  sake  too,  and  always  cheered  up  when  Nora's  gal- 
lant figure  strolled  into  the  quaint  old  kitchen  of  the 
King's  Head. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  to-day,  Mrs  Mary  ?  "  asked 
Nora,  brightly.  "  What  has  gone  wrong  ?  Has  n't  Par- 
rington  been  to  see  you  ?  " 

The  apron  came  down  from  the  face  at  once. 

"  Oh,  there 's  nothing  much  the  matter  with  me,  dear 
Miss  Nora,"  said  Mrs  Mary,  smiling  dejectedly,  "  only 
I  was  that  horrid  the  last  time  Parrington  was  here,  and 
the  nasty  man  has  been  and  kept  away  five  days,  one 
more  day  than  usual.  Not  that  I  miss  him,  and  yet  I 
do !  And  I  feel  as  if  I  did  n't  know  what  to  say  about 
marrying  him.  Tiresome  man  —  always  bothering  me  ! 
And  now  keeping  away  one  day  longer.  Not  that  I 
want  him,  dear  Miss  Nora  !  No,  I  don't  want  him. 
Still  —  would  you  marry  him  if  you  was  me?  I  can't 
say  as  I  'm  not  fond  of  Parrington  sometimes.  He  's  got 
pleasant  ways  about  him,  to  be  sure,  and  a  particular 
handsome  beard,  but  then  there 's  that  Punchbowl.  I 
can't  abide  the  Punchbowl  with  them  horrid  east  winds. 
And  then  he  don't  deserve  consideration,  keeping  away 
one  whole  day  longer.  Oh  dear,  how  I  wish  I  was  dead  ! 
That  would  settle  the  matter  !  " 

25 


The  Fowler 

She  looked  up  and,  catching  Nora's  eye,  she  laughed, 
and  Nora  laughed  too,  and  said : 

"  If  I  were  you,  Mrs  Mary,  I  should  certainly  have 
Parrington.  You  know  he  is  very  fond  of  you  and  very 
patient  with  you." 

"  And  so  he  ought  to  be  ! "  said  Mrs  Mary,  defiantly. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Nora,  "  but  for  all  that,  I 
should  n't  tax  his  patience  too  much.  If  I  were  you,  I 
should  brave  all  my  ancestors  —  Aunt  Rebeccah  Ren- 
aldson  included,  and  I  should  have  Parrington.  Poor 
Parrington  ! " 

Then  they  both  laughed  again,  for  it  was  a  well-known 
fact  that  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  delighted  in  teasing  Parring- 
ton, and  he  put  up  with  all  her  vagaries,  knowing,  no 
doubt,  that  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  was  really  attached 
to  him.  Nevertheless,  he  punished  her  sometimes  by  keep- 
ing away  ;  though  this  was  the  longest  absence  on  record. 

At  this  moment  Wullie  ran  in,  brimming  over  with  fun 
and  mischief. 

"  Mother,"  he  cried,  "  cheer  up,  cheer  up ;  here  be 
Mr.  Parrington  coming  down  the  lane,  and  carrying  a 
posy  in  his  hand.  Cheer  up,  mother !  Put  yer  cap 
straight.  Here  be  Parrington  a-coming  with  his  best 
flowers." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs  Mary,  in  a  dignified  way,  "  and 
what 's  that  to  me,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  Here,  Wullie, 
give  me  the  little  looking-glass,  quick  !  Miss  Nora,  dear, 
tell  me,  do  my  cap  sit  quite  straight  ? " 

They  had  just  finished  tidying  her  hair  and  taking  off  the 
melancholy  apron,  when  Parrington  arrived  on  the  scenes. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Penhurst,  mighty  glad  to  see 
you,"  he  said.  "  Good  evening,  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  glad  to 
see  you  too.  Thank  you,  I  '11  take  a  glass  of  port  wine." 

26 


Theodore  Bevan 


CHAPTER   IV 

THEODORE    BEVAN 

THEODORE  BEVAN  had  just  come  back  from  a  walk 
with  Nora  Penhurst.  He  had  met  her  on  the  moors, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  had  joined  companionship 
with  her.  And  now  he  sat  in  the  parlour  of  the  King's 
Head,  and  made  some  entries  in  a  mysterious  book 
which  he  always  kept  locked  when  he  was  not  using  it. 
The  key  was  attached  to  his  watch-chain.  The  book 
was,  in  fact,  his  journal,  the  receptacle  of  all  his  private 
thoughts  and  inmost  aims.  He  smiled  as  he  wrote,  put 
down  his  pen  and  thought  awhile,  and  then  covered 
several  pages  with  his  neat,  precise  characters. 

"Obviously  gifted  with  a  keen  enjoyment  of  every- 
thing which  life  presents,"  he  wrote.  "  I  have  probed 
her,  and  found  that  she  is  interested  in  everything  —  in 
nature  and  in  knowledge,  in  questions  of  the  great  world 
to  which  she  certainly  belongs,  and  in  the  affairs  of  this 
little  village,  where  she  is  resting  during  her  holidays; 
for  this  much  I  have  gathered  —  that  she  is  a  teacher, 
and  certainly  not  of  the  dry-bones  genus.  An  interest- 
ing personality  in  these  days  when  most  people  are 
miserable,  or  else  claim  to  be  so.  But  her  turn  will 
come,  and  all  these  vital  interests  will  pass  from  her. 
Then  she  will  not  talk  of  the  heather  being  so  purple, 
for  it  will  not  be  purple  to  her,  and  she  will  not  find 
honey  and  flowers  by  the  wayside.  She  will  not  even 
notice  the  flowers.  And  she  will  learn  something  of 
life's  burden  at  which  she  now  scoffs  so  imperiously.  I 

27 


The  Fowler 

have  never  before  met  any  one  quite  like  her.  It  would 
be  an  interesting  experiment  to  find  out  whether  I  could 
influence  such  a  healthy  character  as  hers.  I  will  try. 
I  certainly  cannot  regret  that  I  came  to  this  out-of-the- 
way  place  to  see  that  old  castle :  and,  for  the  present,  I 
shall  not  move  on,  since  I  find  that  she  is  staying  here 
for  some  time  yet.  Nothing  has  amused  me  so  much 
as  the  way  in  which  she  has  received  my  enforced  com- 
panionship, sometimes  resenting  my  presumption,  and  on 
other  occasions  taking  a  humorous  view  of  the  situation, 
saying  to  herself,  no  doubt,  4Ah  well,  it  is  a  distraction.' 
She  is  attracted  to  me  one  moment,  and  repelled  from 
me- the  next.  Certainly  it  is  an  experiment  worth  try- 
ing." Here  he  closed  and  locked  his  journal,  and  tak- 
ing up  his  pen  once  more,  he  wrote  the  following 
letter :  — 

"  To  the  Deputy  Custodian. 

"  Greatly  to  my  regret  I  find  that  considerable  pres- 
sure of  work  will  prevent  me  from  enjoying  the  society 
of  the  deputy  custodian  on  the  morrow.  I  trust,  how- 
ever, that  on  the  following  day,  events  may  return  to 
their  normal  course,  and  that  this  most  irksome  inter- 
ruption may  be  the  first  and  last  of  the  kind.  Life 
being  so  short,  we,  who  have  any  claims  whatsoever  to 
ordinary  intelligence,  must  surely  feel  that  congenial  com- 
panionship is  one  of  those  experiences  which  we  dare  not 
curtail  unnecessarily.  If  we  hesitate,  the  moment  passes. 

"  I  send,  together  with  this  letter,  a  book  which  seems 
worth  consideration.  It  is  not  of  the  kind  that  makes 
a  stir  in  the  world  ;  but  there  are  two  or  three  remark- 
able chapters  in  it.  I  need  not  point  them  out.  You 
will  easily  detect  them  for  yourself. 

"THEODORE  BEVAN." 
28 


Theodore  Bevan 

He  read  the  letter  over,  and  smiled  coldly  as  he  put 
it  in  an  envelope  and  sealed  it. 

"  I  think  that  will  do,"  he  said  ;  and  then  he  put  away 
all  his  papers  tidily,  drew  the  bowl  of  flowers  nearer  to 
him  almost  caressingly,  picked  out  one  or  two  faded 
ones,  threw  them  away,  and  became  engrossed  in  a 
book. 

It  was  a  curiously  plastic  face,  with  many  varied  ex- 
pressions. At  one  moment  he  might  have  passed  for  a 
suffering  saint,  and  the  next  moment  any  one  might  have 
judged  him  to  be  a  poet,  weaving  beautiful  thoughts  and 
fairy  fancies,  and  the  next  moment  he  might  have  sat 
for  a  ruffian,  a  stranger  to  every  gentle  emotion ;  but  for 
all  that,  it  was  not  a  face  alive  with  animal  passions : 
it  was  coldly,  subtly  cruel,  with  the  steely  glance  worthy 
of  one  of  those  relentless  Inquisitors.  Tiny  of  frame, 
he  seemed  capable  of  immense  strength,  for  his  hands 
and  wrists  were  powerful.  One  might  have  imagined 
that  he  could  lift  an  ailing  person  very  tenderly,  or  that 
he  might  raise  his  arm  to  aim  some  fell  blow.  This 
man  might,  perhaps,  have  nursed  well ;  or  he  might  have 
been  heartless  beyond  all  dreams  of  heartlessness.  He 
contracted  no  intimate  friendships.  His  acquaintances 
in  London,  where  he  lived,  had  various  opinions  of  him 
at  various  times ;  but  he  had  a  curious  mental  sway  over 
most  people,  especially  women,  though  men  also  came 
under  his  influence  ;  and  no  one  who  had  once  known 
him,  could  get  quite  free  from  him  mentally.  It  was 
just  as  though  he  wove  a  web  and  waited. 

He  rarely  spoke  of  himself,  and  rarely  alluded  to  his 
affairs,  though  it  was  generally  understood  that  he  was 
a  man  of  independent  means  ;  and  he  never  referred  to 
any  personal  existence  of  his  own,  but  occasionally  he 
spoke  mysteriously  of  "  long  nights  of  toil  and  pressure 

29 


The  Fowler 

of  work."  No  one  had  ever  seen  the  writings  at  which 
he  seemed  to  hint  thus  vaguely,  but  it  was  taken  for 
granted  that  he  was  one  of  the  leader-writers  on  an  im- 
portant daily  newspaper  —  perhaps  l  The  Times.'  Per- 
haps he  was.  He  claimed  nothing  for  himself;  he 
merely  inferred.  All  the  claiming  was  done  by  people  • 
who  believed  him  capable  of  anything ;  and  several  times 
when  successful  books  had  appeared  anonymously,  he 
had  been  charged  with  the  authorship,  and  he  had  merely 
smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  inferring  by  his  man- 
ner that  people  might  think  whatever  they  chose.  He 
evidently  believed  in  the  gospel  of  mystery.  Acquaint- 
ances who  had  been  near  him  for  three  or  four  years, 
knew  nothing  more  about  him  at  the  end  of  that  period 
than  at  the  beginning.  He  had  a  curious  power  of 
divination :  he  seemed  to  realise  when  any  one  was 
thinking  unfavourably  of  him,  and  if  his  friends  had 
compared  notes,  they  would  all  have  found  that  he  had 
often  arrived  amongst  them  at  the  right  moment  to  re- 
move, by  means  of  some  specially  kindly  act,  some 
specially  unfavourable  impression.  If  he  liked,  he  could 
talk  well  about  books  and  events  and  things.  There 
were  some  who  said  that  his  conversation  was  not  deep  ; 
but  most  people  felt  that  he  could  touch  any  depth  that 
he  chose.  There  was  one  man,  of  genuine  attainments 
and  scholarship,  who  said  that  Theodore  Bevan  was  not 
a  scholar;  and  perhaps  he  was  right,  for  surely  true 
scholars  can  recognise  their  own  kith  and  kin,  and  can 
separate  them  easily  from  vulgar  pretenders  who  impose 
on  the  multitude.  He  was  unsparing  of  his  strength 
and  interest  when  he  wished  to  show  a  kindness ;  but  he 
never  spoke  of  his  deeds  of  helpfulness ;  only  it  always 
happened,  that  others  did  so  on  his  behalf.  If  ques- 
tioned, he  would  say,  "  You  are  surely  better  informed 

3° 


Theodore  Bevan 

than  myself."  And  he  would  pass  on  to  the  discussion 
of  some  subject  in  which  he  had  no  personal  part.  He 
enjoyed  excellent  health,  but  he  was  one  of  those  persons 
who  sometimes  look  as  though  they  had  not  one  moment 
more  to  live,  and  who  are  therefore  objects  of  great  in- 
terest and  sympathy.  That  alone  is  sufficient  to  give 
any  one  power ;  for  we  are  so  constituted,  that,  in  spite 
of  our  dogmas  and  doctrines,  and  all  our  theories  about 
life  and  death,  after-existence  or  complete  annihilation  — 
in  spite  of  all  these  differentiations,  we  unite  in  yielding 
a  kind  of  unconscious,  tremulous  reverence  to  him  who 
is  thought  to  be  stepping  across  the  border-line  into  the 
Unknown.  At  such  a  moment  even  ordinary  people 
attain  to  power,  for  that  stepping  across  the  border  is 
fraught  with  ineffable  mystery. 

But  Theodore  Bevan  was  not  stepping  across,  and  he 
often  smiled  secretly  at  the  allusions  made  to  his  frail 
health  ;  and  when  taken  to  task  for  thinking  and  study- 
ing too  much,  and  eating  only  oranges  and  dates  for 
breakfast,  with  perhaps  a  little  brown  bread  added,  he 
would  answer  : 

"  Ah,  I  assure  you  my  appetite  is  quite  good,  and  as 
for  my  health  —  perhaps  I  am  overdriven  just  now. 
But  in  a  few  days  I  shall  have  got  the  better  of  an  un- 
usual pressure  of  work." 

He  often  looked  as  though  he  had  not  eaten  anything 
for  a  week  ;  or,  to  be  more  correct,  he  looked  like  a 
vegetarian  just  before  the  breakdown,  in  many  cases  so 
inevitable  !  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  blessed 
with  a  particularly  healthy  appetite,  and,  when  by  him- 
self, knew  how  to  attack  and  conquer  a  solid  piece  of 
beef;  whereas,  in  company,  he  toyed  with  his  food,  and 
seemed  not  to  need  the  ordinary  sustenance  of  everyday 
life.  At  the  King's  Head  he  displayed  no  such  asceti- 

31 


The  Fowler 

cism,  and  when  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  came  in  to  lay  the 
cloth  and  bring  him  his  supper,  he  willingly  put  aside  his 
books  and  papers,  without,  however,  directing  even  a 
hasty  glance  towards  her  and  her  well-filled  tray. 

This  was  the  man  who  came  into  Nora  Penhurst's 
life,  and  determined  to  teach  her  something  about  the 
"  burden  of  living." 


Enter  Nurse  Isabel 


CHAPTER   V 

ENTER    NURSE    ISABEL 

NURSE  ISABEL  counted  her  shoes  :   seven  pairs  in  all. 

"  I  certainly  must  have  another  pair,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  I  did  not  realise  that  my  stock  had  run  so  low." 

She  then  put  on  her  elegant  coat  and  pretty  hat,  and 
satisfied  herself  that  her  appearance  left  nothing  to  be 
desired,  which  was  indeed  true.  She  was  a  most  distin- 
guished-looking woman,  elegant  and  soothing  in  her  in- 
door uniform,  which  was  of  a  unique  kind,  devised  by 
herself,  and  quite  delightful  in  her  outdoor  apparel,  which 
betrayed  no  signs  of  her  profession. 

"  There  are  three  classes  of  nurses,"  she  said  repeat- 
edly to  herself:  "those  who  are  '  fetching,'  those  who 
are  scientific,  and  those  who  are  neither  fetching  nor 
scientific.  And,  thank  goodness,  I  belong  to  the  first 
class  !  " 

"  Nursing  is  a  domestic  form  of  acting,"  she  some- 
times said :  "  all  good  nurses  would  make  good  actresses. 
I  personally  should  have  made  my  fortune  as  an  actress, 
if  only  my  throat  had  been  stronger.  I  have  every- 
thing in  my  favour :  appearance,  talent,  charm ;  but  no 
strength  of  voice  —  sweetness,  yes,  but  strength,  no." 

She  was  something  of  a  philosopher  too. 

"  The  applause  which  would  have  been  mine,"  she 
said,  "I  have  had  to  forgo.  But,  as  usual,  compensa- 
tions have  arisen,  and  I  am  grateful  for  them.  And  the 
greatest  compensation  is  the  variety  of  parts  which  fall 
to  my  share.  Not  so  with  the  leading  lady.  Having 
3  33 


The  Fowler 

once  pronounced  herself  comic,  she  dare  not  be  tragic ; 
once  labelled  as  the  suffering  heroine,  she  dare  not  be- 
come an  agent  of  wrong-doing.  Now,  at  least,  /  am 
free  to  fill  any  role.  And  I  can  do  each  equally  well.  I 
can  be  the  sweet  saint,  bending  soothingly  over  some 
embroidery,  sitting  in  the  sunlight  —  when  there  is  any, 
and  the  patient  does  not  want  the  blind  pulled  down ! 
I  can  be  silent  for  hours  together,  or  I  can  talk  cleverly 
on  ordinary  subjects,  such  as  Grieg,  Ibsen,  Rembrandt, 
and  the  Chinese  Empress.  I  can  read  the  Bible  with 
reverent  piety,  or  a  racing  novel  with  sparkling  bright- 
ness. I  can  laugh.  I  can  weep.  I  can  be  cynical.  I 
can  be  fresh-hearted." 

All  of  which  was  quite  true.  The  only  puzzle  was 
why  she  had  not  been  able  to  put  such  extraordinary 
talents  to  more  than  ordinary  advantage.  Some  such 
thoughts  crossed  her  mind  to-day,  when  she  left  her 
lodging  to  go  out  and  buy  that  eighth  pair  of  shoes. 
She  was  tired  and  out  of  spirits,  out  of  conceit  with  the 
whole  world,  and  out  of  conceit  with  herself.  She  had 
just  finished  nursing  an  irritable  old  lady,  who  had  merci- 
fully betaken  herself  and  her  irritability  to  another  planet, 
and  Nurse  Isabel  determined  to  give  herself  a  short  holiday 
and  enjoy  a  little  of  outdoor  life  and  shop  windows. 

But  the  noise  of  Oxford  Street  seemed  almost  too 
much  for  her  nerves. 

"  I  am  not  myself  to-day,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  The 
world  seems  to  me  a  living  mass  of  irritable  old  ladies, 
all  wanting  the  windows  closed  and  the  blinds  down.  I 
certainly  must  not  take  another  old  lady  patient  yet,  nor 
another  literary  person.  I  don't  know  which  class  tires 
me  the  most." 

She  looked  at  a  tempting  little  pair  of  red  kid  shoes, 
with  black  velvet  heels,  but  did  not  care  to  take  the 

34 


Enter  Nurse  Isabel 

trouble  to  go  in  and  buy  them.  She  must  have  been 
unusually  out  of  spirits  to  show  such  listlessness  where 
shoes  were  concerned :  they  were  her  speciality,  her 
most  accentuated  tendency,  as  the  little  stranger  with 
the  broad  eye-glass  ribbon  would  have  called  it.  She 
gazed  indolently  at  the  shop-windows,  observed  the 
latest  tricks  of  fashion,  and  decided  how  she  might  best 
modify  them  to  suit  her  own  individual  charms;  but 
nothing  gave  her  real  pleasure  this  morning,  and  when 
she  saw  the  Forest  Hill  omnibus  pass,  she  almost  thought 
she  would  go  and  see  her  mother,  and  just  have  a  few 
hours'  restful  change;  but,  unfortunately,  she  was  not 
at  all  fond  of  the  suburbs.  Her  dislike  of  the  suburbs 
conquered  her  yearning  for  her  mother,  and  the  Forest 
Hill  omnibus  passed  on  its  way,  and  Nurse  Isabel  strolled 
home  even  more  listless  than  before.  She  did  not  even 
criticise  the  other  hospital  nurses  whom  she  passed  on 
her  way :  their  cloaks,  and  bonnets,  and  the  colour  of 
their  uniform  were  matters  of  indifference  to  her  to-day, 
and  she  did  not  pity  any  one  for  being  so  obviously  in- 
ferior to  herself.  And  that  was  quite  unusual  with  her ; 
for,  in  her  normal  condition  of  mind,  she  had  the  pro- 
foundest  pity  for  all  humanity,  especially  hospital-nurse 
humanity,  for  not  being  as  charming  as  herself. 

When  she  reached  her  lodging,  she  found  a  telegram 
waiting  for  her,  and  at  once  went  off  to  see  the  doctor, 
who  summoned  her  to  his  presence. 

"  I  cannot  refuse  to  take  a  case  from  him,"  she  said, 
as  she  hastened  to  his  house.  "  However,  most  of  his 
patients  are  men,  thank  goodness,  so  there  is  no  fear  of 
my  being  bothered  with  another  irritable  old  lady.  Per- 
haps I  shall  have  a  cricketer,  or  a  Life-Guardsman.  I 
wonder  which  it  will  be  ? "  And  as  she  went  on  her 
way,  she  tossed  it  up  in  her  mind. 

35 


The  Fowler 

The  doctor  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  saw  her. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  disengaged,  Nurse  Isabel," 
he  said,  contentedly.  "  Here  is  a  case  which  I  have 
very  much  at  heart,  a  case  which  needs  a  special  kind  of 
nurse :  some  one  artistic  and  cultured,  some  one  with 
refined  ways  and  pleasing  appearance,  some  one  to  soothe 
a  troubled  spirit,  and  help  to  find  that  readjustment 
which  can  be  found,  given  only  the  right  conditions." 

Nurse  Isabel,  standing  there  in  the  sunshine,  seemed 
to  combine  all  these  marvellous  gifts. 
Fhen  the  doctor  continued  : 

"  He  has  had  typhoid  fever,  from  which  he  recovered, 
but  it  has  left  him  in  a  weakened  condition ;  and  then 
several  heavy  troubles,  and  one  bad  shock  coming  on  the 
top  of  his  illness,  have  shattered  his  nervous  system.  He 
is  an  historian.  You  probably  know  his  name  —  Brian 
Uppingham,  the  well-known  author  of c  The  Intellectual 
Evolution  of  Europe.' ' 

"  Ah,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  sympathetically,  but  her  heart 
sank.  Alas  !  where  was  her  cricketer  or  her  Life-Guards- 
man now  ? 

"  He  has  had  a  house  lent  him  in  Graystoke,"  said  the 
doctor, "  a  very  charming  and  bracing  place,  and  it  is  there 
that  I  want  you  to  go  and  to  nurse  him  back  to  health 
and  possibilities  of  renewed  work.  He  is  already  there, 
having  been  taken  down  by  a  friend  who  has  to  leave 
him  on  the  morrow,  and  so  I  propose  that  you  join  him 
immediately." 

She  received  all  the  details  and  instructions  with  a 
truly  charming  amiability  of  manner  which  exactly  corre- 
sponded with  the  savage  disappointment  of  her  mind. 

"  You  are  going  to  a  delightful  part  of  the  country," 
the  physician  said,  as  she  was  leaving,  "and  you  must 
not  fail  to  visit  that  fine  old  castle." 


Enter  Nurse  Isabel 

As  she  left  him,  she  thought  to  herself,  "  Why,  why 
am  I  considered  so  charming  ?  Certainly  one  has  to 
pay  the  price  of  everything  in  this  life."  However, 
she  accepted  the  circumstances,  always  being  something 
of  a  philosopher,  and  hastened  home  to  pack  her  clothes 
and  catch  her  train  for  the  nearest  station  to  Graystoke, 
which,  as  far  as  she  could  make  out,  was  situated  about 
eleven  miles  from  even  the  ghost  of  a  railway  station. 

"  All  the  same,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  was  pack- 
ing, "  this  literary  person  shall  be  the  last  on  my  list  for 
some  time  to  come.  If  I  did  not  need  country  air,  and 
if  I  were  not  afraid  of  offending  that  doctor,  the  his- 
torian might  sink  into  the  tomb  for  all  I  should  care. 

D 

Historian  indeed  !  " 

She  gathered  her  clothes  together,  not  forgetting  the 
Grecian  evening  dress  on  which  she  set  great  store,  for 
she  affected  classical  costumes,  feeling  that  she  was  seen 
to  best  advantage  in  them,  and  she  had  long  since  adopted 
the  Grecian  style  of  hair-architecture,  which  specially 
suited  her  features.  In  less  than  two  hours  she  had 
finished  her  preparations,  packed  her  box,  written  to  her 
mother,  and  enclosed  in  the  letter  a  postal  order  for  pin- 
money,  dressed  the  wounded  hand  of  the  little  lad  down- 
stairs, and  was  soon  leaning  back  in  the  railway  carriage, 
satisfied  on  the  whole  that  she  was  leaving  London. 

"The  country  is  good  for  the  nerves/'  she  thought. 
"  In  my  leisure  hours,  I  shall  stroll  in  the  woods,  if  there 
is  nothing  more  exciting  to  do,  and  I  shall  pick  flowers 
from  the  hedges,  and  I  shall  even  learn  a  little  botany, 
and  perhaps  a  little  geology  too.  So  if  I  get  my  nerves 
into  better  condition,  and  add  some  flowers  and  rocks 
to  my  general  knowledge,  I  shall  not  do  so  badly 
after  all." 

She  was  not  interested  in  knowledge  for  its  own  sake, 
37 


The  Fowler 

but  she  had  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  picking  up  facts 
and  suggestions  ;  and  many  an  intellectual  person  might 
well  have  envied  her  her  keen  mind  and  quick  percep- 
tion. She  was  a  genius  at  annexing  other  people's 
sentiments  and  opinions — annexing  them  so  thoroughly, 
too,  that  they  seemed  to  be  part  of  herself,  and  not  the 
property  of  some  one  else. 

So  this  afternoon,  when  she  was  nearing  the  station, 
she  listened  attentively  to  the  disjointed  remarks  of  an 
old  farmer,  and  learnt  from-  him  many  particulars  of  the 
country,  and  gleaned  information  in  her  own  masterly 
way. 

Then  she  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  felt  the 
freshness  of  the  air. 

"What  delightful  air!"  she  exclaimed,  "and  how 
good  for  one's'  health." 

"  You  be  coming  here  for  health,  then  ?  "  the  old  far- 
mer inquired,  sympathetically,  for  her  face  looked  tired 
and  drawn. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  though  she  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  add  for  whose  health  she  had  journeyed 
thus  far  from  London.  No  one  could  have  found  out 
that  she  was  a  nurse ;  she  looked  like  an  elegant  lady  of 
ease,  with  the  fag-end  of  a  sorrowful  history  attached  to 
her ;  she  spoke  like  a  leisured  gentlewoman  who  has 
spared  the  time  from  her  idleness  to  cultivate  a  language 
or  two,  a  little  music,  a  few  politics,  and  to  take  an  in- 
dolent interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  passing  moment.  Her 
very  voice  had  at  times  a  slight  peevishness  about  it, 
generally  found  in  conjunction  with  wealth  and  ease. 
She  puzzled  the  footman  who  stood  waiting  on  the 
platform  for  a  hospital  nurse  of  the  usual  type.  As  no 
one  of  this  pattern  got  out  of  the  train,  he  naturally 
concluded  that  the  nurse  had  not  come ;  and  he  was 

38 


Enter  Nurse  Isabel 

chatting  with  his  friend,  the  station-master,  and  asking 
particulars  about  the  horse-fair,  when  an  elegant  lady 
approached  him  and  made  inquiries  as  to  whether  a 
carriage  had  been  sent  from  the  Moat  House.  He  was 
so  much  impressed  with  her  appearance  and  manner 
that  he  could  not  summon  up  courage  to  ask  if  she  were 
the  hospital  nurse.  She  waved  her  hand  condescend- 
ingly in  the  direction  of  her  luggage,  and  waited  until 
he  opened  the  door  of  the  old-fashioned  carriage,  and 
then  she  stepped  in. 

"  I  must  have  the  top  of  the  carriage  pulled  down 
instantly,"  she  said,  imperiously.  "  I  do  not  care  to  be 
shut  in  like  this." 

The  footman,  mystified  but  quelled,  obeyed  her  in- 
structions. 

And  thus  in  the  pleasant  cool  of  the  evening  was 
Nurse  Isabel  driven  to  the  scene  of  her  labours. 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   VI 

A    MEETING    ON    THE    MOORS 

THE  scent  of  the  heather  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning ; 
health,  strength,  and  good  spirits,  and  one's  life  to  one's 
self. 

That  beautiful  colour  which  you  can  never  forget  ! 
And  when  you  are  in  a  distant  land  where  the  heather 
does  not  grow,  but  where  the  colours  in  the  sky  are 
legion,  you  search  for  that  purple  shade  and  you  say  : 
"  Ah,  that  is  like  the  heather  !  "  Then  the  delicious 
fragrance  steals  over  your  senses,  together  with  the  sweet 
memories  of  your  native  land. 

There  was  an  unusual  freshness  in  the  air  which  was 
in  itself  uplifting,  and  Nora  strolled  over  the  moors  fol- 
lowed by  the  three  dogs  from  the  Castle  and  the  King's 
Head.  Now  and  again  she  bent  to  fling  a  stone  or  stick 
for  them,  or  stood  to  watch  them  scampering  after  the 
rabbits.  The  joy  of  life  was  in  them  too :  they  did  not 
know  anything  about  the  burden  of  living. 

"  The  burden  of  living  ! "  laughed  Nora ;  and  her 
thoughts  wandered  away  from  the  heather  and  the  clouds, 
and  all  the  gladness  of  the  early  morning,  and  those 
forty-three  essays  on  Ambition  corrected  and  sent  off 
by  yesterday's  post  —  wandered  away  to  that  strange 
little  man  who  had  begun  an  acquaintance  with  her  as 
a  matter  of  course.  There  was  something  in  him  which 
attracted  and  repelled  her  too,  but  the  attraction  and  re- 
pulsion were  never  balanced  so  as  to  produce  indiffer- 
ence. One  touch  in  him  she  liked  immensely  ;  he  never 

40 


A  Meeting  on  the  Moors 

attempted  to  account  for  himself  in  any  way,  and  she 
was  never  conscious  that  he  tried  to  make  her  account 
for  herself.  So  far  as  each  of  them  knew,  they  might 
have  dropped  down  from  different  planets  on  to  this  one 
little  spot  on  this  planet,  and,  rinding  themselves  here, 
of  course  began  to  talk.  She  had  not  even  known  his 
name  until  last  evening,  when  she  had  received  that  letter 
from  him  in  which  he  signed  himself  "  Theodore  Bevan." 
She  took  it  from  her  pocket  now,  and  read  it  over  again, 
half  amused  at,  and  yet  half  annoyed  with  the  quiet  but 
determined  insistence  of  the  writer;  and  she  was  just 
on  the  point  of  tearing  up  the  note,  when  she  changed 
her  mind,  and  replaced  the  mysterious  document  in  her 
pocket. 

"  I  must  really  show  it  to  father,"  she  said ;  "  I 
wonder  what  he  would  think  of  my  little  stranger.  He 
would  at  once  find  a  nickname  for  him." 

Then  her  thoughts  turned  to  her  father,  and  the  ex- 
pression on  her  face  betrayed  how  much  she  loved  him; 
not  with  the  traditional  devotion  of  a  child  to  its  parents, 
but  with  the  affectionate  understanding  and  sympathy 
of  one  human  being  for  another  human  being,  the  re- 
lationship coming  in  as  an  accident  and  yet  as  a  bond. 
She  had  inherited  some  part  of  his  rich  nature,  together 
with  his  keen  delight  in  life,  and  his  sense  of  humour. 
That  alone  was  an  inheritance  worth  having  —  suffi- 
cient compensation,  as  he  would  have  said,  for  Nora's 
disadvantage  in  having  had  a  father  at  all !  She  had 
written  begging  him  to  join  her,  and  he  had  sent  a 
letter  which  she  received  last  night,  saying  that  perhaps 
he  would  come,  and  perhaps  he  would  not  come  ;  in 
any  case,  he  would  arrive  at  his  own  hour;  and  he  had 
added  : 

"  I  saw  your  little    friend,  Mrs    Ellerton,  yesterday. 


The  Fowler 

She  asked  me  to  remember  to  tell  you  that  there  is  a 
friend. of  hers,  Nurse  Isabel,  staying  at  the  Moat  House, 
nursing  some  one  or  other,  and  that  you  were  to  be 
good  to  her,  as  she  is  having  a  very  dull  time,  and  her 
spirits  are  down  at  zero.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  am 
sorry  for  the  patient,  if  the  nurse  is  depressed." 

She  smiled  as  she  remembered  his  words,  and  she 
crossed  the  moor,  and  left  the  land  of  heather  for  a 
barer  region  of  downs,  furrowed  and  creased  like  a 
weather-beaten  old  man's  face.  She  was  not  sure  that 
she  did  not  care  more  for  this  barren  tract,  with  its 
uncompromising  frown,  than  for  that  fairer  district  with 
its  purple  regal  garment  —  and  yet  not  uncompromis- 
ing either ;  for  the  sun  broke  forth,  and  some  of  the 
rays  nestled  in  the  deep  wrinkles,  and  all  the  harshness 
was  tempered  as  though  by  magic:  the  stern  realities 
were  softened  by  the  idealities. 

She  had  reached  a  little  group  of  pine-trees  which 
was  her  favourite  retreat.  From  this  point  she  could 
view  the  whole  expanse  of  country  so  dear  to  her  heart, 
and  here  all  the  winds  of  heaven  seemed  to  meet,  and 
blow  strength  into  her.  She  watched  the  light  and  the 
shadows  of  the  clouds  and  the  many  varied  expressions 
on  these  barren  moors,  and  the  clouds  themselves  now 
passing  swiftly,  now  pausing  lazily,  whilst  the  sweet 
fresh  air  swept  through  her,  quickening  all  her  pulses, 
and  confirming  all  her  strength  of  brain  and  body. 

Those  who  love  Nature  truly,  never  quite  lose  their 
childlike  impressions  of  her.  What  they  have  as  chil- 
dren observed  in  her  and  loved  in  her,  what  they  have 
as  children  compared  her  with  and  likened  her  to  — 
that  they  still  see  in  her  and  love  in  her  with  a  persist- 
ence which  time  cannot  efface.  She  gathers  them  to 
her,  as  in  the  old  days.  They  are  only  little  children 

42 


A  Meeting  on  the  Moors 

to  her,  for  all  their  growth  of  mind  and  stature;  they 
come  back  to  the  nursery,  time  after  time,  and  are  glad 
to  play  about,  or  else  to  rest;  they  may  do  as  they 
please  if  only  they  come;  their  playthings  are  waiting 
for  them,  their  cradle  is  waiting  for  them.  It  will 
always  be  the  same,  year  after  year.  So  Nora  this  morn- 
ing played  in  Nature's  nursery,  seeing  pictures  in  the 
skies,  and  fairy  forms  in  the  clouds,  and  rugged  old  faces 
on  the  moors.  She  watched,  and  wove  fairy  fancies  for 
herself  out  of  Nature's  changing  moods,  until  the  dogs, 
waiting  patiently  for  her,  looked  up  wistfully,  and  won- 
dered why  she  lingered  so  long,  and  asked  her  in  their 
own  eloquent,  irresistible  manner,  to  go  on  her  journey 
and  not  check  their  anxious  activity. 

But  suddenly  they  dashed  off,  barking,  and  Nora,  look- 
ing in  the  direction  in  which  they  ran,  saw  an  elegantly 
dressed  lady  coming  towards  her,  and  wondered  who  she 
could  be.  Nora  noticed  at  once  that  she  had  a  most 
pleasing  appearance  and  an  interesting  face,  which  was 
rather  pale  and  delicate.  Whoever  she  was,  she  showed 
every  sign  of  being  immensely  important  to  herself,  and 
bore  herself  with  an  air  worthy  of  the  serenest  highness 
in  the  universe. 

She  paused  as  she  came  near  Nora,  and  having  be- 
stowed a  hasty  glance  on  her,  and  satisfied  herself,  no 
doubt,  that  this  stranger  was  not  unworthy  of  being 
addressed,  she  smiled  graciously  and  said  stiffly  : 

"  Pray  excuse  me.  But  can  you  oblige  me  by  telling 
me  the  time,  and  also  where  I  am  ?  I  believe  I  have  lost 
myself." 

Nora,  somewhat  tickled  by  her  condescending  manner, 
which  seemed  so  out  of  place  on  the  moors  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  told  her  the  time,  and  showed 
her  the  path  which  would  lead  her  to  the  main  road  over 

43 


The  Fowler 

the  moors,  and  then  expected  that  she  would  pass  on  her 
royal  progress  to  her  royal  destination.  But  the  lady  was 
apparently  in  no  hurry  to  reach  her  palace;  moreover, 
she  was  tired,  and  she  was  not  dressed  in  a  style  suitable 
for  a  rough  walk. 

"  These  moors  are  really  most  tiring,"  she  said  in  an 
injured  tone  of  voice.  "  I  think,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I 
will  rest  here  a  few  moments.  But  they  do  not  seem 
to  have  tired  you,"  she  added,  glancing  admiringly  at  Nora 
who  stood  leaning  up  against  a  tree,  looking  the  picture 
of  health,  surrounded  by  the  dogs,  and  holding  in  he^r 
hands  a  splendid  bunch  of  heather. 

"  Oh,  I  am  used  to  them,"  said  Nora,  smiling;  "but 
all  the  same,  the  roads  are  rather  rough.  The  soldiers 
cut  them  up  dreadfully  during  the  manoeuvre-time.  See, 
here  is  a  capital  seat  on  this  old  stump." 

"  I  have  had  such  very  bad  nights  lately,"  said  her 
Majesty,  sinking  down  to  rest.  "  And  so  I  thought  I 
would  try  whether  the  morning  air  would  not  refresh 
me.  Besides,  even  an  outing  like  this  makes  a  change 
in  a  monotonous  life.  Anything,  indeed,  is  welcome 
which  causes  a  diversion.  For  there  are  not  many 
distractions  to  be  found  in  this  out-of-the-way  place,  and 
one  gets  so  tired  of  driving  in  an  antediluvian  carriage, 
with  two  sleepy  horses  and  two  still  sleepier  men-servants. 
After  each  drive  I  come  back  more  depressed  than  when 
I  started." 

"  You  have  not  been  to  the  Castle,  I  think  ?  "  asked 
Nora,"  at  least,  I  do  not  remember  seeing  you  there." 

"  Ah,  that's  a  good  idea,"  replied  her  Majesty,  bright- 
ening up.  "  As  a  rule,  I  abominate  castles,  but  when 
there  is  nothing  else,  even  castles  have  their  use.  I 
shall  certainly  come." 

"  And  there  are  some  delightful  places  in  the  neigh- 
44 


A  Meeting  on  the  Moors 

bourhood,"  continued  Nora.  "The  two  sleepy  horses 
could  very  well  take  you  there.  If  you'll  come  to  the 
Castle,  I  will  tell  you  about  these  other  excursions.  And 
now  I  think  I  must  be  going." 

"  For  goodness'  sake  don't  go,"  said  the  lady,  parting 
suddenly  with  all  her  dignity.  "  It's  positively  more 
than  eight  weeks  since  I  have  exchanged  a  word  with 
any  one  except  the  two  sleepy  coachmen,  the  deaf  doc- 
tor, and  my  most  uninteresting  invalid  and  his  aged 
housekeeper;  and  I  don't  know  which  of  them  is  the 
worst." 

Then  Nora  recalled  Mrs  Ellerton's  message  about  the 
nurse  at  the  Moat  House. 

"  Are  you  Nurse  Isabel  ?  "  she  asked,  a  little  timidly, 
and  when  the  other  nodded  her  head  affirmatively,  Nora 
told  her  that  Mrs  Ellerton  had  written  about  her. 

"  It  is  not  possible  to  describe  to  you  what  a  dull  time 
I  am  having,"  said  Nurse  Isabel.  "  I  have  been  actually 
reduced  to  reading  Shakespeare  and  Ruskin,  and  looking 
at  photographs  of  celebrated  paintings  and  places.  Of 
course  that  sort  of  thing  comes  in  useful,  but  at  the  same 
time  it  is  not  electric." 

"  And  what  about  your  patient  ?  "  asked  Nora,  much 
amused  with  her  new  acquaintance,  who  seemed  the  very 
last  person  on  earth  suitable  for  the  sick-room. 

"  Oh,  he  is  not  electric  either,"  said  Nurse  Isabel, 
plaintively.  In  fact  I  have  had  a  run  of  ill-luck  these 
last  months,  each  case  being  more  depressing  than  the 
last.  But,"  she  added  piously,  "  I  suppose  it  ought  to 
be  enough  for  me  to  do  my  duty.  But  duty  is  not  an 
exciting  thing,  is  it  ?  " 

The  two  young  women  looked  at  each  other  and 
laughed,  for  Nurse  Isabel's  sudden  paroxysm  of  piety  was 
comical  even  to  herself. 

45 


The  Fowler 

"  And  is  your  patient  going  to  die  or  recover  ?  "  asked 
Nora. 

"  Oh,  he  is  recovering,"  said  Nurse  Isabel.  "  He  has 
not  been  dangerously  ill  since  I  have  been  there ;  he  goes 
on  all  the  time  slowly  regaining  his  health.  I  think  he  must 
have  been  slow  about  everything  ever  since  his  birth.  And 
he  always  wants  to  be  read  to,  a  task  I  particularly  dislike. 
It  tires  my  voice,  so  I  don't  very  often  humour  him.  Be- 
sides, he  chooses  such  absurd  books  —  books  of  travel; 
my  pet  abomination  is  geography,  and  he  insists  on  finding 
the  places  on  the  maps.  I  always  detested  maps." 

"  What  a  cheerful  time  you  must  both  have  !  "  re- 
marked Nora.  "  I  don't  know  for  whom  I  am  most 
sorry,  you  or  him.  May  I  ask  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  in  a  most  friendly 
way ;  "  he  is  the  historian,  Mr  Brian  Uppingham." 

"  Brian  Uppingham  !  "  said  Nora.  "  Why,  he  ought 
to  be  interesting.  He  wrote  that  splendid  book  on  the 
4  Intellectual  Evolution  of  Europe.'  ' 

"  Ah,"  said  Nurse  Isabel, "  I  can  quite  believe  it.  That 
is  just  the  sort  of  thing  he  would  write." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  see  him,"  said  Nora. 
"  Let  us  change  places.  I  will  come  and  read  to  your 
patient,  and  you  can  come  and  be  deputy  custodian  at 
the  Castle.  And  then  you  can  make  the  acquaintance 
of  my  strange  little  visitor  who  seems  to  have  dropped 
down  here  out  of  some  other  world.  He  comes  nearly 
every  day  to  see  me." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  his  coming,"  said  Nurse  Isabel, 
looking  at  Nora  with  frank  admiration. 

Nora  blushed,  and  whistled  for  the  dogs,  who  had 
again  gone  hunting. 

"  I  think  I  must  be  going  home  now,"  she  said. 
"  Shall  we  go  together,  if  you  are  rested  ?  " 

46 


A  Meeting  on  the  Moors 

So  they  walked  on  together,  and  Nurse  Isabel  said  : 

"  By  the  way,  I  have  quite  forgotten  to  ask  what 
report  there  was  of  Mr  Ellerton." 

"Mrs  Ellerton  said  that  he  had  just  discovered  another 
ailment,"  answered  Nora. 

"  Ah,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  replied  Nurse  Isabel, 
gravely.  u  It  will  keep  him  in  excellent  health  and 
spirits  for  quite  six  weeks !  " 

And  then  they  talked  about  Mrs  Ellerton  and  her 
hypochondriacal  husband,  and  from  that  they  turned  to 
the  subject  of  nursing,  and  Nora  said  that  she  had  a  great 
reverence  for  those  who  looked  after  the  sick  and  dying. 
"  They  are  the  guardians  of  the  nation,"  she  said,  warmly, 
"  and  they  should  be  duly  honoured  —  like  the  Vestal 
Virgins,  in  fact." 

Nurse  Isabel  did  not  feel  like  a  guardian  of  a  nation, 
and  she  said  a  little  guiltily,  "  Have  you  ever  known  any 
of  them  ?  " 

"  Only  one,"  answered  Nora,  staunchly. 

"  Ah,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  "  that  may  account  for  your 
opinion  of  them." 

"  It  does,"  said  Nora.  "  She  nursed  me  week  after 
week  with  unfailing  tenderness  and  devotion,  and  I 
thought  her  the  most  beautiful  character  that  I  had  ever 
even  dreamt  of." 

"  Ah,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  difficult 
to  live  up  to  a  beautiful  character.  It  is  extremely  unfair 
when  a  patient  claims  that  from  you  too.  But  then, 
patients  are  very  inconsiderate." 

So  they  laughed  and  chatted,  and  Nurse  Isabel  was 
charmed  to  have  companionship,  and  delighted  with  her 
new  acquaintance.  Hitherto  she  had  never  cultivated 
women  friends,  but  she  suddenly  felt  what  a  real  pleasure 
it  must  be  to  have  a  friendship  with  a  woman.  Then 

47 


The  Fowler 

and  there  her  heart  went  out  to  Nora.  She  picked 
heather  and  bracken ;  she  flung  bits  of  sticks  for  the 
dogs ;  the  worldliness  fled  from  her  soul,  the  jadedness 
from  her  spirit ;  and  when  at  last  they  came  down  over 
the  moors  and  stood  by  a  bend  of  the  river,  she  gathered 
reeds  and  bulrushes  as  though  to  the  manner  born. 

"I  declare  I  feel  quite  a  different  person,"  she  said, 
brightly,  "  thanks  to  this  pleasant  time  I  have  had  with 
you.  You  will  see  me  at  the  Castle  before  very  long, 
and,  mind,  I  shall  expect  you  to  come  and  read  to  my 
historian." 


48 


'  The  Eternal  Battle ' 


CHAPTER   VII 

*  THE    ETERNAL    BATTLE  ' 

"  WELL,"  said  Theodore  Bevan,  "  and  you  have  read 
the  book  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Nora.     "  It  is  full  of  bitterness." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  don't  expect  such  a  subject  to  be  laden  with 
honey  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  expect  people  who  write  on  such  a  vital  subject  as 
the  eternal  battle  between  the  old  and  the  young  to 
show  some  sort  of  balanced  judgment,"  Nora  answered, 
warmly. 

He  smiled  his  thin  cynical  smile,  and  made  no  an- 
swer, and  the  two  companions  walked  on  silently,  cross- 
ing the  old  bridge  and  following  the  river's  course  along 
the  sweet-scented  meadows.  They  stopped  to  look  at 
some  cows  drinking,  and  Nora  bent  down  to  gather 
some  forget-me-nots,  late  lingerers  from  the  spring,  and 
passed  on  as  silently  as  before.  She  had  intended  to 
spend  that  afternoon  by  herself,  down  by  the  river,  and 
was  feeling  annoyed  that  Theodore  Bevan,  finding  her 
there,  had  not  shown  tact  enough  to  leave  her  alone, 
since  he  must  have  seen  from  her  reluctant  manner  that 
she  was  desiring  solitude.  Perhaps  the  most  irritating 
part  of  the  whole  matter  was  that  she  had  not  known 
how  to  shake  herself  free  from  him.  She  was  not  want- 
ing in  moral  pluck,  but  she  was  hampered  by  a  fine 
sense  of  courtesy ;  and  when  a  person  refuses  to  be  dis- 
missed, good  breeding  is  often  quite  weaponless.  So  he 
4  49 


The  Fowler 

came  with  her  for  her  favourite  walk,  and  took  no  um- 
brage at  her  obvious  indifference  to  the  advantages  of  his 
society;  in  fact,  it  amused  him,  and  he  said  to  himself: 

"  My  Athene "  —  for  he  had  christened  her  that  in 
his  journal  — "  my  Athene  is  in  a  non-receptive  mood 
this  afternoon,  but  it  will  not  last  long  —  one  quarter  of 
an  hour  at  the  utmost,  and  what  is  that  ? " 

He  was  right,  for  it  was  not  in  Nora's  nature  to  re- 
main sullen,  and  she  soon  got  the  better  of  her  irritation. 
Besides,  there  was  something  compelling  in  his  presence. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  turning  to  him,  u  and  I  should  like 
to  hear  what  you  find  to  admire  in  the  book  you  lent 
me." 

"  First  of  all,"  he  answered,  "  I  admire  the  courage 
of  the  writer.  It  is  not  every  one  who  will  dare  to  take 
up  the  cudgels  for  the  young  against  the  old.  We  all 
know  that  old  people  are  selfish  and  narrow  and  demand- 
ing; most  of  us  have  personal  experiences  to  testify  to 
this  general  knowledge.  Many  of  us  have  had  our  lives 
spoiled  and  embittered  by  the  old,  and  all  our  golden 
days  of  possibilities  and  enjoyments,  yes,  and  our  just 
rights  of  individuality  and  freedom,  wrested  from  us  by 
unfair  means.  For  the  weapon  which  the  old  use 
against  us  is  irresistible ;  it  is  their  old  age" 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  Nora  looked  at  him 
with  added  interest. 

"  And  I  tell  you,"  he  added,  almost  fiercely,  "  they 
use  their  weapon  mercilessly.  We  all  know  this  —  we 
who  have  felt  the  edge  of  that  weapon  —  but  who  has 
dared  to  say  anything  ?  We  have  just  endured,  and  the 
sacrifice  has  gone  on  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  this 
writer  has  broken  through  the  silence  at  last,  has  broken 
down  that  barrier  of  awe  and  absurd  reverence  which 
tradition  has  placed  between  the  old  and  the  young;  and, 

5° 


1  The  Eternal  Battle ' 

having  got  rid  of  the  barrier,  has  stepped  out  into  open 
country,  and  urges  us  to  do  the  same." 

" 4  Now  we  can  face  each  other,'  he  says,  c  now  we  can 
speak  freely  to  each  other,  and  on  equal  terms.  Hitherto 
we  have  had  to  listen  to  the  long  list  of  our  failings. 
Now  our  moment  has  come,  and  we  have  won  for  our- 
selves the  right  to  make  you  old  people  hear  about  your 
own  failings,  and  about  our  grievances,  and  — ' ' 

He  paused  again,  and  Nora  broke  in  earnestly  : 

"  It  is  nothing  new  to  you  or  me,  or  any  one,  that 
time  has  brought  about  a  much-needed  change  in  the  re- 
lations between  the  old  and  the  young.  It  is  true  that 
not  much  has  been  written  about  it,  but  a  great  deal  has 
been  done  silently  to  bring  about  a  readjustment  which 
shall  be  satisfactory  to  both  sides.  All  I  say  is,  that  it 
should  be  done  without  any  exaggerated  insistence  and 
aggressiveness,  and  with  some  sense  of  justice.  The  old 
have  their  rights  as  well  as  we.  But  this  author  sweeps 
all  their  claims  on  one  side ;  and,  moreover,  does  away 
with  all  sentiment." 

"  Sentiment  !  "  sneered  Theodore  Bevan. 

"  Sentiment,"  she  repeated.  "  It  is  absurd  to  try  and 
hustle  sentiment  off  the  scenes;  it  comes  into  everything 
human.  It  cannot  be  argued  away ;  it  cannot  even  be 
analysed ;  it  cannot  even  be  driven  out  by  sneers  or 
laughter." 

"  You  are  always  an  anachronism,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  And,  moreover,  your  writer  is  brutal  without  being 
skilful,"  she  continued,  not  deigning  to  notice  his  inter- 
ruption. "  It  is  true  that  we  have  to  wound  our  old 
people  in  stating  our  own  case ;  we  have  to  hurt  their 
pride  and  prejudices,  and  trample  on  some  of  their  most 
cherished  traditions ;  but  if  we  are  careful  how  we  do 
it,  the  wounds  will  heal  up,  and  no  poison  of  bitterness 

5' 


The  Fowler 

and  unkindness  will  remain.  For  we  do  not  want  the 
old  to  suffer  unnecessarily.  That  would  not  be  progress. 
That  would  be  a  return  to  barbarism." 

"  You  are  evidently  prejudiced  in  their  favour,"  Theo- 
dore Bevan  said.  "  Probably  you  believe  in  them.  I 
do  not." 

Nora  was  silent,  overpowered  for  the  moment  by  a 
rush  of  conflicting  feelings  :  her  own  happy  experiences 
with  her  own  father,  and  her  own  definite  knowledge 
of  the  unhappy  experiences  which  some  of  her  friends 
always  had  with  their  old  people.  In  this  very  village, 
too,  near  at  hand,  was  a  striking  instance  of  the  unwar- 
rantable selfishness  of  the  old,  which  went  on  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  was  marring  the  life  and  condition  of  a 
plucky  and  cheery  woman.  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  might 
laugh  about  her  "  ancestors  "  and  their  trying  character- 
istics, but  they  were  engrossing  the  best  part  of  her  life, 
and  demanding  the  entire  sacrifice  of  her  personal  in- 
clinations and  her  own  individual  rights.  It  was  a 
specially  happy  illustration  in  a  simple  sphere,  where 
the  complications  of  intellectual  and  external  life  did 
not  come  into  the  question. 

11  Perhaps  I  do  believe  in  them,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I 
am  sure  I  have  every  reason.  No  one  could  have  had 
such  a  splendid  old  father  as  I  have,  and  not  believe  in 
them." 

"  And  it  is  well  for  you  if  you  can  believe  in  them," 
he  said.  "  But  for  my  own  part,  when  I  wish  to  read 
of  mellow  old  age,  a  haven  of  peace  for  the  young  and 
restless,  with  sympathies  stretching,  like  the  roots  of  an 
ancient  oak,  from  one  generation  to  another,  now  in  this 
direction,  and  now  in  that ;  and  like  the  oak,  too,  spread- 
ing its  protecting  boughs  for  those  who  need  its  generous 
hospitality  —  when  I  want  to  meet  with  such  a  grand  old 

52 


'The  Eternal  Battle' 

age  as  this,  I  go  to  fiction.     One  must  not  go  to  real  life 

o  7       o  o 

for  that.  There  one  only  finds  the  ugly  barren  realities 
which  shrivel  up  one's  mind.  There  one  stumbles  upon 
that  extraordinary  selfishness  which  is  the  most  accen- 
tuated tendency  of  the  old." 

"  But  the  young  are  selfish  too,"  Nora  said,  quickly. 
"  I  don't  think  there  is  much  to  choose  between  us.  It 
merely  takes  a  different  form." 

u  There  is  a  tremendous  difference  between  the  self- 
ishness of  thoughtlessness  practised  by  the  young,  and 
the  selfishness  which  old  age  has  made  its  settled  and  de- 
liberate habit,"  he  answered,  coldly.  "  But  you  must 
have  observed  all  this  yourself,  and  if  you  could  free 
yourself  from  that  primaeval  sentimentality  which  pre- 
vents any  clear  vision,  you  would  confess  the  truth  with- 
out flinching.  Then  you  would  look  at  life  as  it  really 
is,  and  not  as  the  idealists  make  it.  But  it  requires 
courage  for  that." 

"  And  do  you  suppose,"  said  Nora,  looking  down  at 
him  from  her  heights,  —  "  do  you  suppose  that  you  are 
the  only  person  who  has  not  been  afraid  to  lay  hold  of 
life  and  look  at  it  closely  ?  Perhaps  others  have  looked 
at  it  just  as  narrowly,  but  seen  different  things." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  answered. 

"  This  book,"  said  Nora,  "  is  the  work  of  some  one 
whose  life  has  been  embittered  by  injustice  and  tyranny. 
There  is  not  one  single  note  of  pity  sounded." 

("  Pity  !  "  he  sneered.) 

"  Not  even  a  passing  cadence  of  kindness  and  consid- 
eration :  no  allusion  to  duty." 

("  Duty  !  "  he  repeated,  coldly.) 

"  And  no  question  of  reasonable  forbearance ;  nothing 
about  compromise,  and  of  course  nothing  about  affection." 

("  Affection  !  "  he  murmured.) 
S3 


The  Fowler 

"  It  dwells  entirely  on  the  battle  which  must  be  fought 
between  the  old  and  the  young,  and  which  must  be  per- 
petually carried  on  at  any  price.  And  there  is  to  be  no 
quarter  —  " 

"  There  can  be  no  quarter,"  he  said,  imperiously. 
"  Don't  you  see  that  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  she  replied.  "  Of  course  I,  as  well 
as  you,  believe  firmly  that  these  difficult  questions,  so 
long  shirked,  should  be  aired  and  discussed.  I  do  not 
think  that  any  false  sentiment  —  by  the  way,  you  do  not 
seem  to  know  the  difference  between  sentiment  and  false 
sentiment  —  that  any  false  sentiment  should  prevent  us 
from  examining  closely  the  situation,  and  determining, 
each  one  for  himself  or  herself,  on  an  attitude  which 
should  combine  a  certain  amount  of  freedom  with  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  recognised  responsibility.  The  propor- 
tion of  the  combination  must  obviously  vary  with  the 
different  circumstances  in  which  we  all  find  ourselves 
placed.  But  I  do  think  that  fine  and  delicate  feeling 
should  hinder  us  from  behaving  as  though  we  were  mere 
churls,  and  had  only  one  wish,  our  own  emancipation  at 
the  expense  of  every  one  else." 

He  smiled  at  her  as  one  might  smile  at  a  child  dis- 
playing her  ignorance. 

"  Oh,  I  understand  that  you  are  amused  with  me," 
she  said ;  "  but  just  wait  one  moment,  and  then  I  have 
done.  Last  year  a  friend  of  mine  wrote  a  book  on  the 
marriage  question.  It  had  an  immense  success ;  but 
men,  in  talking  of  it,  called  it  a  -woman's  book.  We  have 
yet  to  be  given  a  book  on  the  marriage  question,  which 
is  neither  a  woman's  book  nor  a  man's  book,  but  a  hu- 
man book,  equally  true  and  telling  for  both  sides.  And 
it  must  not  be  written  by  an  embittered  wife  or  an  angry 
husband,  but  by  some  one  who  can  see  clearly  the  two 

54 


1  The  Eternal  Battle ' 

sides  of  the  question :  by  some  one  who  has  suffered, 
but  without  contracting  a  moral  and  mental  disease. 
And  so  with  regard  to  these  most  difficult  relations  be- 
tween the  old  and  the  young  :  if  a  book  of  any  real  value 
is  to  be  written  to  help  us,  it  should  not  be  a  l  young  ' 
book  nor  an  '  old  '  book,  but  a  book  for  all  humanity,  so 
free  from  any  bitterness,  and  so  beautifully  courteous, 
that  the  old  and  the  young  might  study  it  together,  and, 
having  read  it,  might  stretch  out  their  arms  in  longing 
for  a  better  understanding  and  friendship." 

"  You  do  me  a  wrong  if  you  think  I  wish  to  laugh  at 
you,"  Theodore  Bevan  said,  quite  gently.  "  You  are  an 
idealist,  and  we  do  not  speak  the  same  language.  That 
is  all.  I  catch  some  of  your  words,  and  you  catch  some 
of  mine.  And  perhaps  I  wish  that  I  had  been  taught  to 
speak  your  language,  and  —  " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  Nora  glanced  at  him  and 
noticed  an  expression  of  infinite  sadness  and  suffering 
on  his  face.  Her  sympathy  went  out  to  him  at  once. 
Perhaps  he  was  one  of  those  whose  lives  had  been  over- 
shadowed by  the  tyranny  and  selfishness  of  old  age,  and 
the  mere  remembrance  of  it  all  had  made  him  suffer 
afresh  and  speak  with  exaggerated  harshness. 

"  We  have  been  talking  on  a  very  serious  subject," 
she  said,  with  softened  manner,  "  and  I  feel  as  though  I 
had  parted  with  some  of  my  life's  blood." 

"  You  should  have  kept  it  for  a  better  cause,"  he  said, 
slowly.  u  You  plead  well  for  the  old  people,  but  I  con- 
sider they  are  hopeless.  We  cannot  make  friends  of 
them:  they  are  our  enemies  to  the  backbone.  They 
have  always  been  our  enemies.  And  when  we  are  old, 
you  and  I,  then  we  will  be  the  enemies  of  the  young, 
using  our  weapon,  old  age — " 

She  turned  impatiently  from  him  as  though  she  had 
55 


The  Fowler 

heard  enough  j  and  in  the  moment  of  her  revulsion,  she 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  highroad,  which  they 
had  just  reached.  It  was  the  blacksmith's  gig,  and  David 
the  blacksmith,  stout  and  cheery,  sat  upright,  occupying, 
as  he  quaintly  put  it,  "  the  mere  space  of  a  tiny  sparrer." 

11  David,"  she  said,  "  I  am  tired.  Give  me  a  lift  to  the 
Castle." 

"  David,"  she  said,  when  she  was  comfortably  installed, 
"  give  me  the  reins,  light  your  pipe,  and  tell  me  how  you 
used  to  catch  trout  with  your  hands  when  you  were  a 
boy." 

"  Why,  Miss  Nora,  I  've  told  you  a  dozen  times,"  he 
said,  "and  you  '11  be  tired  of  my  stories." 

"Tell  me  all  over  again  from  the  beginning,"  urged 
Nora;  and  David,  nothing  loath,  told,  in  his  own  de- 
lightful way,  the  story  of  his  happy  boyhood. 

Meanwhile  Theodore  Bevan  walked  slowly  home,  turn- 
ing over  many  things  in  his  mind. 

"  My  Athene  must  not  be  allowed  to  treat  me  like  that 
a  second  time,"  he  said. 


Nora's  Father 


CHAPTER  VIII 

NORA'S  FATHER 

FOR  two  or  three  days  the  little  stranger  did  not  come 
to  the  Castle,  and  Nora  did  not  know  whether  she  was 
relieved  or  distressed  by  his  absence.  She  finished  cor- 
recting some  of  her  examination  papers,  and  she  enter- 
tained Nurse  Isabel  at  afternoon  tea.  And  she  went 
for  a  long  walk  by  herself,  and  found  herself  thinking 
constantly  of  Theodore  Bevan,  dwelling  on  his  argu- 
ments against  old  age,  recalling  his  bitter  animosity, 
hardening  her  heart  against  him,  and  then  almost  un- 
consciously relenting.  Full  of  these  thoughts,  over 
which  she  had  no  control,  she  came  home  by  way  of 
the  village,  and,  passing  the  King's  Head,  she  suddenly 
saw  a  certain  species  of  luggage  which  she  could  have 
identified  anywhere.  A  violoncello  in  a  green  case,  a 
violin,  a  zither,  a  small  handbag,  and  a  schoolboy's 
book-box  lay  deposited  casually  in  front  of  the  inn. 

Nora  gave  a  cry  of  pleasure,  and  hastened  in. 

"  Mrs  Shaw,"  she  said,  u  surely  father  is  here  ?  " 

"  Here  I  am,  my  dear  girl,"  cried  a  voice  from  the 
corner  of  the  kitchen.  "  I  thought  I  must  come  and 
see  how  you  were  getting  on.  I  was  famished  with 
hunger,  and  so  Mrs  Shaw  provided  me  with  some 
grouse.  I  believe  it  was  cooked  for  the  lodger  up- 
stairs, but  that  is  no  affair  of  mine,  and  he  could  not 
have  enjoyed  it  as  I  am  doing." 

"  Dear  old  father,"  said  Nora,  as  she  sat  down  beside 
him,  "  it  is  good  to  see  you ;  and  how  well  you  look  !  " 

57 


The  Fowler 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  missed  you  dreadfully,"  he  said,  as 
he  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  It  is  an  awful  business 
being  without  you.  That  is  the  worst  of  a  close  friend- 
ship. Well,  one  has  to  pay  one's  price  for  everything. 
Give  me  some  more  bread-sauce,  my  dear." 

She  smiled  lovingly  at  him,  and  drew  her  chair 
closer. 

"  I  did  not  really  intend  coming,"  he  said.  "  I  thought 
it  was  better  for  you  to  have  your  holiday  to  yourself, 
and  not  be  bothered  with  anything  old.  But  I  could 
not  keep  away  any  longer,  and  so  this  morning,  I  put 
together  a  few  absolutely  necessary  things,  and  here  I 
am!" 

"  It  is  lovely  to  be  with  you  again,"  said  Nora.  "  I 
am  sorry,  though,  that  you  have  not  brought  a  few 
more  musical  instruments !  I  wonder  you  did  not  bring 
a  drum  and  a  trombone." 

"  Don't  be  impertinent !  "  he  answered.  "  There,  I 
have  done  my  dinner.  Let  us  go  and  get  the  key  of  the 
organ,  and  have  some  music  in  the  church." 

"  Oh,  father,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  just  starved  for 
music.  And  I  am  longing  to  hear  the  new  Grancino 
'cello." 

"  Ah,  he  is  a  beauty,"  her  father  answered  as  he  lit 
a  cigar.  "  He  ought  to  sound  well  in  that  old  church, 
with  the  stained  glass  and  oak  carvings.  I  've  brought 
ever  so  much  music  with  me  —  all  your  favourite  melo- 
dies, Nora;  I  had  a  sort  of  fancy  to  play  them  here." 

"  If  it 's  music  you  're  talking  about,"  said  Mrs 
Shaw,  coming  into  the  kitchen  at  that  moment,  "  I  must 
come  too." 

"  Come  along,"  he  said,  genially.  "  Leave  the  inn  and 
the  ancestors  and  the  bread-loaves  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, and  come  and  rest  in  the  dear  old  church.  Why, 

58 


Nora's  Father 

many  a  time  I  have  remembered  how  you  used  to  sit 
there  and  listen.  You  too  shall  hear  some  of  the  melo- 
dies you  love.  I  did  not  forget  them  for  you.  And  here 
is  Wullie,  just  in  time  to  blow  the  bellows  for  us.  Well, 
Wullie,  my  lad,  still  a  good  boy  ?  Or  have  you  begun 
the  downward  path  ? " 

So  with  a  smile  here  and  a  greeting  there,  and  a 
moment's  chat  with  this  ancestor  and  that,  and  a  reck- 
less distribution  of  a  few  remaining  cigars  in  a  crumpled 
envelope,  Nora  and  her  father  passed  hand-in-hand  on 
their  way  towards  the  village  church,  whilst  Wullie 
ran  on  to  get  the  key,  and  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  lingered 
behind  for  a  few  minutes  to  take  her  bread  out  of  the 
oven. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am  getting  on  pretty  well  with  my  work," 
Nora  was  saying.  "  I  have  nearly  finished  two  sets  of 
examination  papers.  But  of  course  I  have  been  out  of 
doors  most  of  the  time,  and  then  I  have  made  the 
acquaintance  of  that  hospital  nurse  who  is  nursing  at  the 
Moat  House,  and  I  've  seen  a  good  deal  of  Mrs.  Shaw's 
lodger,  whom  she  dislikes  so  much,  and  who  has  taken 
your  old  sitting-room.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  not  dis- 
like him  too.  But  really  I  don't  know  —  he  is  cer- 
tainly interesting.  I  have  seen  him  nearly  every  day, 
for  the  last  fortnight  or  so ;  but  on  one  occasion  we 
had  rather  a  warm  discussion,  and  since  then  he  has 
not  paid  his  usual  visit  to  me.  I  think  I  have  missed 
him." 

"  What  was  it  you  fought  over  ?  "  asked  her  father. 

"  Old  people,"  answered  Nora.  "  He  talked  very 
bitterly  about  them." 

"Well,  I  am  not  surprised  at  that,"  said  her  father, 
smiling.  "  They  represent  a  class  of  persons  to  which 
you  know  I  have  never  been  attached." 

59 


The  Fowler 

They  both  laughed  at  that,  and  waited  in  the  old 
porch  until  Wullie  came  with  the  key  of  the  church ; 
and  then  they  passed  in,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments, 
held  by  the  charm  of  the  noble  roof,  the  graceful  columns, 
and  the  fine  old  choir  with  its  rare  stained  window  of 
bygone  times.  He  pointed  out  to  her  his  favourite  bits, 
pouring  out  to  her  a  golden  goblet  full  of  rich  enthusiasm 
and  appreciation,  and  then  at  length  he  took  possession 
of  the  organ.  Nora  sat  in  one  of  the  front  seats  and 
watched  him.  He  was  not  exactly  a  handsome  old  man, 
but  he  had  a  grand  head  encircled  by  an  abundance  of 
soft  grey  hair,  none  too  tidy.  He  wore  a  shaggy  grey 
beard,  none  too  tidy  either.  His  bright  eyes  had  lost 
nothing  of  the  fire  of  youth,  and  his  whole  presence 
seemed  endowed  with  a  vitality  which,  instead  of  being 
aggressive,  was  simply  charming. 

Nora  always  loved  him,  but  she  loved  him  best  when 
he  was  playing  on  the  organ  or  the  violoncello.  He 
knew  how  to  give  one  the  real  thrill  of  the  loveliest  of 
all  languages.  He  touched  the  notes,  and  one's  whole 
being  vibrated  in  response ;  emotions  and  sensations,  dull 
or  dormant,  sprang  into  life  once  more ;  beautiful  new 
thoughts  were  born,  and  bad  old  thoughts  were  chased 
away.  It  was  always  so  when  he  played ;  people  always 
said  it  of  him.  It  was  not  that  he  was  such  a  wonder- 
ful performer  —  there  were  hundreds  better  than  he  — 
but  that  he  knew  the  secret  of  life  and  music  ;  and  when 
a  man  has  that  double  knowledge,  then  only  can  he  give 
the  thrill.  There  was  an  old  philosopher,  some  one  well 
known  in  the  world  of  thought,  and  he  used  to  love  to 
listen  to  Roger  Penhurst's  playing. 

"  Ah,"  he  would  say,  "  when  we  have  a  philosopher 
who  is  also  a  true  musician,  then  indeed  we  shall  be  led 
to  heights  now  well-nigh  impossible  to  scale.  Sometimes 

60 


Nora's  Father 

when  I  have  been  listening  to  Roger  Penhurst's  render- 
ing of  beautiful  music,  my  mind  has  bounded  forward, 
and  broken  down  one  more  barrier." 

This  afternoon  he  began  with  Mendelssohn's  "  Hear 
my  prayer  "  and  "  Had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove,"  and  worked 
his  way  into  one  of  Bach's  Preludes  and  Fugues,  and 
thence  rambled  on  until  he  reached  Beethoven's  Mass  in 
D,  and  turned  aside  to  Grieg's  Spring  Songs.  Then  he 
paused  a  moment,  and  plunged  into  Mendelssohn's  Grand 
Prelude  and  Fugue,  which  ends  with  that  broad  and  mag- 
nificent Chorale.  That  indeed  can  make  one's  spirit 
soar  if  ever  music  could ;  that  indeed  can  break  a  barrier 
down. 

When  the  last  sounds  had  died  away,  Nora  bent  over 
him. 

"  Come,  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  must  be  tired." 

So  he  put  his  hand  in  hers,  and  let  her  lead  him  away 
from  the  organ  :  and  as  they  strolled  down  the  aisles, 
examining  the  quaint  old  brasses  on  the  pavements,  and 
the  splendid  old  carved  oak  pews  with  many  curious 
devices,  they  found  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  resting  quietly, 
with  her  apron  over  her  face.  They  smiled  at  each 
other  and  passed  her  without  a  word,  knowing  that  she 
was  busy  with  her  emotions.  At  the  end  of  the  church, 
in  the  last  pew,  sat  Theodore  Bevan,  looking  tired  and 
pallid.  He  glanced  at  Nora  and  bowed,  and  glanced  at 
Nora's  father,  and  drew  his  thin  lips  together.  Nora 
quite  unconsciously  dropped  her  father's  hand. 

When  they  were  out  in  the  open,  Roger  Penhurst 
said  : 

"  Who  was  that  atrabilious  little  Voltaire  to  whom  you 
bowed  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  is  Mrs  Shaw's  lodger,  and  my  new  acquaint- 
ance," Nora  said. 

61 


The  Fowler 

"  He  does  not  attract  me  at  first  sight,"  said  her  father, 
lighting  a  cigar,  "  but  I  should  certainly  like  to  measure 
his  head.  It  is  small,  but  remarkable.  Have  you  meas- 
ured it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Nora,  laughing. 


62 


Contains  a  Little  Geography 


CHAPTER  IX 

CONTAINS    A    LITTLE    GEOGRAPHY 

NURSE  ISABEL  rose  from  her  sofa,  looked  at  her  watch, 
and  yawned. 

"  Time  for  his  medicine,  afternoon  tea,  and  some  of 
his  dull  conversation,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  simply  will  not 
read  any  more  of  that  absurd  book  of  travels  to-day. 
Arizona  indeed  !  As  though  I  cared  anything  about 
Arizona  !  I  am  sure  I  was  patient  enough  yesterday, 
reading  until  my  poor  vocal  cords  nearly  broke,  and 
looking  out  ridiculous  places  on  the  map  until  my  head 
was  nearly  racked  with  pain.  I  am  certainly  not  going 
to  be  patient  for  two  days  running.  I  am  not  a  saint 
yet  —  thank  goodness  !  " 

In  this  amiable  frame  of  mind,  she  chose  a  most  un- 
saintly  looking  pair  of  shoes  from  her  closely-packed 
regiment  under  the  dressing  table,  and  dressed  herself 
in  her  afternoon  uniform,  an  artistic  flowing  grey  gown, 
fastened  at  the  back  with  twenty-four  buttons.  She 
wore  a  fascinating  cap  after  the  fashion  of  an  Italian 
peasant  girl's  head-dress.  A  white  apron,  and  a  white 
collar  and  cuffs  completed  an  appearance  of  soothing 
refinement  which  had  deceived  many  learned  doctors 
who  prided  themselves  —  as  of  course  they  always  do  — 
on  their  unusual  powers  of  insight  into  character.  She 
lingered  for  some  time  before  the  looking-glass,  gazing 
at  those  features  for  which  she  had  an  intense  admira- 
tion, and  then  she  put  into  her  pocket  two  or  three 
letters  received  that  morning  from  nurse  friends,  sympa- 

63 


thising  with  her  over  the  dull  desolation  which  she  was 
enduring  so  nobly.  There  was  a  note,  too,  from  a 
former  man  patient,  with  whom  she  had  not  had  a  dull 
time,  and  who  now  sent  her  a  rare  stamp  for  her  stamp- 
album,  annexed  from  his  wife's  collection.  She  read 
this  letter  and  smiled ;  and  finally  went  into  her  invalid's 
room,  feeling  decidedly  braced  up. 

"  Now,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  if  he  will  only  keep 
from  referring  to  his  own  despair  about  his  literary  work, 
and  from  worrying  me  to  read  to  him  out  of  that  absurd 
book  of  travels,  it  is  quite  possible  that  I  may  remain  in 
good  spirits  and  a  good  temper  for  the  whole  afternoon. 
But  he  is  the  dullest  man  I  ever  had  to  deal  with.  And 
as  for  his  History  book  —  I  don't  see  anything  in  it.  I 
don't  see  why  it  should  have  made  him  famous.  And 
why  he  should  have  fretted  himself  into  a  fever  over  a 
second  History  book,  is  also  more  than  I  can  make  out. 
But  really,  these  literary  people  are  a  horrid  nuisance, 
and  a  great  deal  worse  than  irritable  old  ladies.  At 
least  the  old  ladies  do  not  write  Histories,  and  do  not 
crave  to  be  read  to  out  of  geography  books !  " 

"Well,"  said  she  to  her  patient,  who  had  raised  him- 
self up  on  the  couch  as  she  came  in,  and  turned  to  her 
with  a  smile  on  his  face,  "why,  I  declare  you  look 
brighter.  Have  you  had  a  good  rest  and  forgotten  all 
your  worries  and  anxieties  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  enjoying  a  most  delightful  dream,"  Brian 
Uppingham  said,  eagerly.  "  I  dreamed,  Nurse  Isabel, 
that  I  had  finished  and  published  my  new  volume  of 
History;  that  I  had  been  able  to  write  down  the  opin- 
ions which  I  had  been  harbouring  in  my  mind  for  so 
long  ;  and  I  recall  now  so  vividly  the  mood  in  which  I 
did  it  all ;  there  was  no  harassing  doubt,  no  anxiety  of 
any  kind,  but  just  pure  enjoyment,  just  a  strong  and 

64 


Contains  a  Little  Geography 

quiet  consciousness  of  power  to  be  wielded  in  the  fashion 
most  suiting  my  fancy.  But  what  I  remember  most 
vividly  was  the  joy  of  having  actually  accomplished  the 
book,  and  knowing  that  it  was  not  unworthy  ;  but  not 
that  so  much  as  the  satisfaction  of  having  braced  my- 
self up  and  done  it  in  spite  of  my  former  success.  Ah, 
you  smile  at  that,  because  you  do  not  understand.  Yet, 
I  tell  you,  some  anxious  temperaments  can  be  as  much 
intimidated  by  success  as  by  failure.  But  in  this  dream 
of  mine,  that  great  weight  was  lifted  from  my  mind, 
and  I  felt  as  though  I  could  sing  from  very  glee." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  But  the  best  part  of  the  dream  came  afterwards,  when 
I  awoke,  and  realised  that  not  only  in  dream  life,  but  in 
real  life  too,  I  had  broken  through  my  prison  of  doubt 
and  impotence,  and  was  free." 

"  Those  are  the  first  sensible  words  I  have  heard  you 
say  during  these  last  depressing  weeks,"  said  Nurse 
Isabel,  as  she  poured  out  the  tea.  "  Now,  for  goodness' 
sake,  don't  have  a  relapse  !  Of  course  I  can't  understand 
you  :  no  sensible  person  could.  Good  gracious  !  If  I 
had  made  a  success  over  anything  whatsoever — a  History 
book,  or  a  skirt-dance,  or  anything  —  I  should  not  have 
been '  intimidated?  But  there  is  no  accounting  for  people. 
Anyway,  don't  have  a  relapse.  My  nerves  will  not  stand 
it.  I  have  come  to  the  end  of  my  endurance." 

"  Why,  I  never  knew  you  had  any,"  remarked  Brian 
Uppingham,  cheerfully,  "  and  I  thought  I  had  made  a 
careful  study  of  you,  too.  Tell  me  something  about  this 
wonderful  endurance.  I  should  like  to  learn." 

Nurse  Isabel  was  for  the  moment  stunned.     A  change 

had  come  over  her  patient,  and  she  had  not  yet  adjusted 

herself  to  the  difference.     He  was  no  longer  dull ;  he  was 

waking  up.     This  was  indeed  surprising.     And  to  think 

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The  Fowler 

that  such  change  should  come  because  you  suddenly  find 
yourself  able  to  write  another  History  book  ! 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  said, "  I  dare  say  you  have  had  a  dreary 
time  of  it.  I  do  not  think  you  have  tried  to  help  me, 
but  no  doubt  you  could  not  have  succeeded  even  if  you 
had  tried ;  and  I  don't  blame  you.  I  blame  that  idiot  of 
a  specialist  for  making  an  unsuitable  choice  in  you." 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  have  found  any  one  suitable," 
remarked  Nurse  Isabel,  pleasantly.  "  You  see,  you  are 
a  particularly  irritable  creature,  and  you  would  have 
hated  any  one ;  and  therefore,  probably,  I  have  answered 
the  purpose  as  well  as  any  other  poor  victim." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  I  was  the  c  poor  victim,' 
in  having  been  nursed  by  any  one  so  unsympathetic  as 
yourself,"  said  Brian  Uppingham,  smiling.  "  But  as  for 
hating  you,  I've  done  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  I  have  not 
been  as  dull  as  you.  You  have  amused  me  intensely.  I 
have  not  amused  you,  have  I  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  indeed  not,"  she  answered,  with  fervour. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  tell  you  one  thing,  Nurse  Isabel, 
if  I  ever  leave  off  writing  history  and  take  to  fiction,  I 
will  put  you  into  my  first  novel,  a  little  idealised,  perhaps, 
for  the  purposes  of  art,  but  true  to  the  life,  with  the 
twenty-four  buttons  to  fasten  the  dress  at  the  back,  and 
the  regiment  of  dainty  shoes  under  the  dressing-table,  and 
the  stamp-album,  and  .  .  ." 

"  And  my  wonderful  endurance,"  suggested  Nurse 
Isabel,  quaintly. 

"And  the  chronic  depression  so  invigorating  to  the 
patient's  spirits,"  said  Brian,  good-naturedly.  "  And 
those  famous  nervous  headaches,  always  coming  on  at 
the  exact  moment  when  the  patient  desired  to  be  read  to." 

"  But  when  the  patient  chooses  deadly  uninteresting 
books,  what  is  the  nurse  to  do  to  protect  herself?" 

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asked  Nurse  Isabel.  u  I  should  certainly  make  a  note 
of  that  in  my  first  novel,  if  I  were  you.  It  is  only  fair, 
you  know,  to  give  two  sides  of  the  question." 

"  I  will  not  forget,"  he  answered.  "  But  really  I 
think  I  have  teased  you  enough  for  to-day,  Nurse  Isabel. 
I  am  sorry,  and  you  will  forgive  me  when  you  see  the 
rare  stamps  which  I  have  been  collecting  for  your  album. 
Here  they  are." 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  have  thought  of  me,"  she  said, 
looking  at  them  with  genuine  pleasure.  "  As  for  being 
vexed  with  what  you  have  said,  I  don't  mind  what  you 
say  or  what  you  do,  provided  you  don't  have  another 
relapse.  I  really  cannot  stand  that ;  but  anything  else 
I  am  prepared  to  meet  with  perfect  equanimity." 

"  But,"  she  added,  with  more  kindness  than  was  her 
wont,  "  you  have  talked  quite  enough,  and  you  will  be 
getting  tired.  Shall  I  read  to  you  out  of  the  geography 
book,  or  would  you  like  to  hear  something  more  about 
Nora  Penhurst,  who  has  such  a  great  admiration  for 
your  work  ?  " 

"  Something  of  both,"  Brian  said,  "  but  begin  with 
the  girl." 

"  No,  I  think  it  better  to  begin  with  Arizona  and  the 
atlas,"  Nurse  Isabel  said,  primly.  "  It  is  more  compos- 
ing for  your  nerves  !  " 

She  had  risen  from  the  chair  by  his  sofa,  and  had 
reached  out  her  hands  for  the  two  books,  and  then 
turned  to  him  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  not  been  very  patient,"  she  said. 
"  But  when  you  put  me  into  your  novel,  make  some 
excuses  for  me,  and  don't  forget  to  mention,  that  in  two 
years  I  have  nursed  three  philosophers,  three  poets,  one 
painter,  and  five  successful  writers,  including  yourself. 
The  last  philosopher  nearly  drove  me  distracted :  he  was 

67 


The  Fowler 

so  terribly  afraid  that  he  would  not  live  long  enough  to 
finish  his  last  volume  of  Synthetic  something  or  other. 
Of  course  he  did  live.  Those  people  always  do,  just  as 
you  will.  And,  of  course,  he  finished  his  last  volume, 
and  began  another  last  one.  I  knew  he  would.  He 
was  the  first  person  to  impair  my  patience.  Well,  I  am 
sorry.  And  now  for  Arizona  and  New  Mexico." 

Then  she  read  to  him,  and,  with  saintlike  patience, 
found  all  the  places  on  the  map,  and  as  she  glanced  at 
him  from  time  to  time,  she  began  to  feel  an  awakening 
pleasure  in  his  company.  She  remembered  suddenly 
how  forbearing  he  had  sometimes  been  with  her  when 
she  was  at  her  worst,  and  a  new  feeling  sprang  up  in 
her  mind.  And  she  recalled  what  Nora  had  said  about 
nurses,  and  how  they  should  be  honoured  as  the  guar- 
dians of  the  nation,  and  she  told  Brian. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Everything 
should  be  done  to  make  their  lives  easy  and  honoured." 

"  You  make  me  feel  ashamed,"  she  said,  laughing  a 
little  uneasily.  "  But  perhaps  you  know  I  am  not  a 
good  specimen." 

"  Perhaps  I  know  in  my  heart  of  hearts  that  I  am  a 
bad  specimen  of  the  other  genus,"  he  said.  "  And  now 
tell  me  some  more  about  Miss  Penhurst." 

So  Nurse  Isabel  told  him  once  more  about  the  meet- 
ing with  Nora  on  the  moors,  and  she  said  : 

"  Women  are  supposed  not  to  be  able  to  admire  their 
own  sex.  But  that  is  not  true,  you  know ;  anyway,  I 
admire  her  very  much,  and  I  felt  from  the  first  moment 

I  saw  her,  that  I  would  try  to  win  her  friendship.     She 
is  a  gallant-looking  creature." 

"  She  did  wonders  for  you,  Nurse  Isabel,"  he  said. 

II  You  have  been  surprisingly  good-tempered  since  you 
met  her." 

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Contains  a  Little  Geography 

"  Perhaps  she  will  do  wonders  for  you,"  Nurse  Isabel 
replied.  "  You  remember  she  is  coming  to  read  to  you 
one  day  soon." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  very  soon,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be 
so  delightful  to  meet  some  one  who  is  good  enough  to 
appreciate  my  efforts  in  the  History  book  direction  !  It 
will  quite  brace  me  up.  Appreciation  is  a  wonderful 
tonic." 

He  lay  there,  with  a  quiet  smile  of  content  on  his  face ; 
and  it  was  a  delightful  face,  of  rare  distinction  and  refine- 
ment, with  eyes  which,  looking  out  on  the  world,  surely 
saw  the  beautiful  things  of  the  world,  and  with  a  mouth 
which  hid  in  its  corners  a  lurking  suspicion  of  humour. 
But  there  was  an  expression  of  great  sadness  on  his  face, 
and  he  still  looked  frail.  He  had  been  suffering  at  first 
from  typhoid  fever,  and  then  from  a  long  and  severe 
nervous  illness,  brought  on  by  a  terrible  calamity  which 
had  befallen  him  in  the  Swiss  mountains.  He  and  his 
dearest  friend  and  comrade  went  out  together  with  the 
guide,  and  were  lost.  Brian  was  the  only  one  of  the 
three  found  and  rescued,  and  for  some  time  it  seemed 
doubtful  whether  he  would  keep  his  reason.  His  grief 
for  his  friend  was  piteous.  Just  at  the  time  of  the 
accident  the  first  part  of  the  '  Intellectual  Evolution  of 
Europe '  was  published,  and  began  at  once  to  attract 
attention.  It  was  hoped  that  this  would  help  him  back 
to  health,  and  no  doubt  it  would  have  done  so,  but  that 
just  when  he  was  raising  his  head,  another  great  grief 
overtook  him :  his  little  step-sister  Thyra  died  quite  sud- 
denly at  college  in  the  country.  She  was  only  eighteen 
years  old,  being  twenty-one  years  younger  than  himself, 
and  he  had  been  brother  and  father  and  mother  to  her. 
She  was  a  clever  girl,  and  he  was  intensely  proud  of  her 
abilities  and  her  personality ;  and  as  she  was  the  only 

69 


The  Fowler 

relative  he  had,  his  whole  life  was  bound  up  in  hers. 
One  day  he  had  received  the  news  of  her  brilliant  suc- 
cess in  her  examination,  and  the  next  day  he  started  off 
to  see  her;  and  when  he  reached  Cherbury,  he  heard 
she  had  died  that  very  morning  from  some  internal  rup- 
ture. She  had  died  before  the  doctor  could  be  fetched 
to  her.  Brian  stood  stunned,  and  quite  incredulous. 

"  Thyra  is  so  strong,"  he  said.  "  The  thing  is  simply 
impossible." 

But  for  all  that  she  had  died ;  and  meanwhile  the 
fame  of  his  book  went  on  increasing,  and,  young  man 
as  he  was,  he  seemed  to  have  won  a  place  of  distinction 
amongst  modern  thinkers.  But  his  friends  saw  with 
disappointment  that  he  took  very  little  interest  in  the 
recognition  which  had  come  to  him.  When  he  spoke 
of  it  at  all  it  was  with  the  cool  unconcern  of  a  spectator, 
and  when  people  spoke  to  him  of  it,  he  shrank  back  as 
though  something  had  wounded  him.  Letters  of  praise 
from  many  eminent  men  reached  him ;  and  from  the 
Continent,  too,  came  pleasing  signs  of  appreciation. 
But  not  even  the  German  translation  of  his  work  moved 
him  to  enthusiasm.  He  stood,  a  solitary  figure,  reached, 
apparently,  by  none  of  the  warm  influences  around  him, 
and  not  caring  for  his  honours,  since  he  now  had  no  one 
with  whom  to  share  them.  So  he  drifted,  now  gathering 
himself  together  and  trying  to  write  once  more,  and  now 
turning  away  from  his  work,  which  seemed  to  tax  him 
too  greatly,  and  always  full  of  fears  that  he  had  lost  his 
abilities,  and  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  continue  his 
History.  This,  together  with  his  loneliness,  preyed  so 
much  on  his  mind  that  he  broke  down  completely.  When 
many  remedies  had  been  tried,  and  proved  of  no  avail, 
many  changes  prescribed,  and  all  to  no  purpose,  the 
doctor  suggested  the  rest  cure,  and  chose  Nurse  Isabel  as 

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Contains  a  Little  Geography 

a  suitable  and  soothing  person  to  administer  it.  One  of 
the  masters  at  Harrow,  who  was  taking  his  family  on  the 
Continent  for  the  summer  holidays,  offered  him  the  use 
of  the  Moat  House,  near  Graystoke;  and  as  the  country 
was  both  beautiful  and  bracing,  Brian  decided  to  accept 
this  kindness. 

So  Nurse  Isabel  nursed  him  at  the  Moat  House,  and 
slowly  but  surely  he  came  back  to  life  and  strength  and 
courage. 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   X 

ATTRACTION    AND    REPULSION 

ROGER  PENHURST  did  not  take  kindly  to  Theodore 
Bevan,  his  fellow-lodger  at  the  King's  Head,  and  sought 
sympathy  from  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  who  enthusiastically 
shared  his  dislike;  and  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
could  understand  what  Nora  found  so  attractive  in  his 
companionship.  At  first  her  father  teased  her  about  her 
new  acquaintance,  whom  with  characteristic  appropriate- 
ness he  had  christened  the  "  centipede  "  ;  but  when  he 
found  that  she  became  quite  touchy  on  the  subject,  a 
most  unusual  departure  for  her,  and  that  any  depreci- 
atory remarks  of  his  always  called  forth  warm  words  of 
defence  from  Nora,  he  gave  up  all  fun  and  criticism 
where  Theodore  Bevan  was  concerned,  and  just  waited, 
quite  confident  that  his  dear  girl  would  soon  come  round 
to  his  way  of  thinking.  The  curious  part  of  it  was,  that 
Theodore  Bevan,  who  constantly  saw  Roger  Penhurst  at 
the  King's  Head,  and  sometimes  spoke  with  him  about 
passing  events,  never  once  referred  to  Nora,  though  of 
course  it  was  no  secret  that  he  visited  her  at  the  Castle, 
went  for  walks  with  her  in  which  her  father  once  or 
twice  joined,  and  took  tea  with  them  whenever  he 
wished  it.  But  his  presence  was  nearly  always  an  ill- 
ness to  the  genial  old  man,  whilst  at  other  times,  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  could  not  help  being  attracted  to- 
wards the  little  stranger,  who  knew  well  how  to  make 
himself  agreeable  when  he  chose,  and  possessed  the 
virtue,  much  appreciated  by  the  old,  of  being  a  good 

72 


Attraction  and  Repulsion 

listener.  Roger  Penhurst  had  lived  through  a  long  life, 
had  plenty  to  say,  liked  saying  it,  and  liked  being  listened 
to  with  a  profound  attention  granted  by  the  very  few. 
It  was  silent  flattery,  all  the  more  eloquent  because  of 
its  silence,  and  at  first  it  conciliated  the  old  man's  re- 
luctance ;  but  always  after  the  short  spell  of  attraction 
came  the  lengthened  period  of  repulsion ;  and  when  his 
dislike  was  at  its  strongest,  it  invariably  happened  that 
Theodore  Bevan  arrived  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  removing,  by  means  of  some  special  attentive 
act,  some  specially  unfavourable  impression.  It  was  as 
though  he  possessed  a  curious  power  of  divination,  and 
realised  when  any  one  was  thinking  harshly  of  him. 
Mrs  Shaw  told  Roger  Penhurst  that  her  little  lodger 
often  put  himself  to  trouble  to  help  her,  just  at  the  very 
minute  when  she  was  most  desiring  to  send  higi  flying 
out  of  the  King's  Head  and  be  rid  of  him,  bag  and 
baggage  !  Then  she  would  be  seized  with  a  paroxysm 
of  repentance  and  shame,  and  would  try  to  coerce  her- 
self into  liking  him  better. 

"  But  it  be  of  no  use,  dear  Mr  Penhurst,"  she  would 
say,  almost  pathetically  ;  "  I  can't  abide  the  little  viper 
man." 

Theodore  Bevan  never  spoke  to  Nora  of  her  father, 
and  although  it  was  her  habit  to  be  constantly  talking  of 
him,  the  little  stranger  invariably  remained  silent,  as  we 
do  when  some  one  is  giving  us  an  account  of  a  person 
in  whom  we  are  not  interested.  And  then  he  imme- 
diately passed  on  to  some  other  subject.  He  seemed  to 
have  made  up  his  mind  that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
Nora  and  her  father  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
each  other  —  were,  in  fact,  isolated  people,  whom  force 
of  circumstances  had  brought  together  for  the  moment ; 
and  by  his  manner  to  them  when  both  were  present,  he 

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The  Fowler 

certainly  assumed  that  they  had  not  had  any  previous 
acquaintance.  This,  no  doubt,  sounds  absurd,  consider- 
ing the  tender  intimacy  which  did  exist  between  father 
and  daughter,  and  the  good  understanding  so  apparent 
between  them ;  but  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  this  was 
Theodore  Sevan's  attitude.  Nora  noticed  it  at  the  onset, 
and  was  greatly  amused. 

"  I  really  wonder  that  he  does  not  offer  to  introduce  us 
to  each  other  every  time  we  are  together,"  she  thought. 
"  I  think  I  shall  suggest  it." 

So  one  day  she  said  : 

"  I  really  wonder  that  you  do  not  offer  to  introduce 
me  to  my  father." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  said, 
innocently. 

"Why,  I  mean  that  you  seem  to  assume  we  are 
strangers,"  Nora  answered. 

41  Indeed,  I  was  not  aware,"  he  answered  in  a  sur- 
prised tone  of  voice.  "  I  suppose  it  is  that  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  take  relationships  into  account.  They 
have  never  impressed  themselves  on  my  mind  as  being 
important." 

But  he  did  not  change  his  manner,  which  continued 
to  amuse  and  irritate  Nora  according  to  her  mood  at  the 
time ;  just  as  the  very  way  in  which  he  had  taken  pos- 
session of  her  from  the  beginning,  tickled  her  fancy  at 
one  moment,  and  annoyed  her  at  another.  He  seemed, 
also,  to  have  assumed  that  she  always  desired  his 
presence,  whether  she  was  alone  or  with  her  father; 
and  if,  by  any  chance,  he  was  prevented  from  seeing 
her,  he  wrote  a  letter  in  which  he  expressed  regret 
at  being  unable  to  pay  the  daily  visit.  He  generally 
entrusted  this  note  to  Wullie,  together  with  a  book, 
which  no  doubt  was  intended  to  make  up  for  her  dis- 

74 


Attraction  and  Repulsion 

appointment  in  being  deprived  of  his  society.  And 
strangely  enough,  when  she  did  not  see  him,  though  she 
pretended  to  herself  to  be  glad  that  she  was  free  of  him, 
she  missed  him.  She  looked  out  longingly  for  his  eccen- 
tric little  figure,  and  cheated  herself  into  believing  that 
she  rejoiced  not  to  see  it.  Long  afterwards,  in  thinking 
the  whole  matter  over,  she  realised  that  if  only  she  could 
have  spoken  of  him  to  some  one,  and  more  especially  to 
her  father,  she  would  have  been  able  to  shake  off  his 
influence.  But  she  always  found  that  she  never  could 
speak  of  him ;  several  times  she  began,  and  all  the 
attempts  ended  in  failure.  She  simply  could  not  discuss 
him,  even  with  herself,  though  his  way  of  looking  at  life, 
and  his  many  bitter  and  cruel  remarks,  so  often  called 
forth  her  indignation,  which  must  necessarily  have  drawn 
her  into  sympathy  with  others  who  were  observing  him 
with  unfavourable  eyes.  He  had  no  belief  in  love  and 
none  in  friendship,  but  he  did  not  say  this  in  so  many 
words;  and  it  was  only  from  the  tone  of  his  conversa- 
tion that  she  realised  that  his  pessimism  was  not  an 
affectation :  it  was  an  affliction  with  which  he  must 
have  been  born. 

He  told  her  once  that  he  took  great  pleasure  in  ana- 
lysing people's  actions  and  motives. 

"  Given  any  action,"  he  said,  "  find  the  originating 
motives  :  a  most  interesting  occupation." 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  detective,"  she  said. 
"  Perhaps  you  are  one  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  been  one,"  he  answered, 
grimly.  "  But  a  hobby  loses  its  charm  when  it  becomes 
a  profession." 

"  What  a  mind  you  must  have,"  she  answered,  "  to 
find  satisfaction  in  such  paltriness  for  its  own  sake." 

"  I  think  I  have  never  claimed  to  be  anything 
75 


The  Fowler 

better  or  worse  than  the  average  person,"  he  replied. 
"  Average  people  are  ^invariably  paltry ;  they  correspond 
with  the  small  shop-keeping  community  in  the  social 
organism." 

He  did  not  bear  her  any  grudge  when  she  criticised 
his  sentiments,  as  she  frequently  did  at  the  beginning  of 
their  intercourse,  whilst  she  was  still  retaining  her  own 
individuality.  On  the  contrary,  he  showed  a  singular 
sweetness  and  humility  which  could  not  but  flatter  Nora, 
for  she  was  thus  made  to  feel  that  she  was  influencing 
him.  She  was  flattered,  too,  by  his  strong  determination 
to  have  as  much  of  her  companionship  as  he  possibly 
could.  He  showed  her  no  personal  attentions  beyond 
what  was  required  by  the  code  of  strictest  courtesy ;  and 
he  had  never  even  touched  her  hand.  There  was  not 
the  slightest  approach  to  familiarity  in  his  manner  to- 
wards her,  and  yet  there  was  a  quiet  freedom  of  bearing, 
which  appealed  to  Nora  all  the  more  because  she  felt 
that  it  was  entirely  impersonal;  but  she  reflected  that 
she  would  not  have  liked  it  from  her  young  men  friends 
in  the  old  days  of  fun  and  frivolity.  But  she  liked  it  in 
Theodore  Bevan  ;  it  seemed  an  outcome  of  his  mysteri- 
ous self.  He  made  no  attempt  to  flatter  her  by  speech 
either;  he  always  spoke  disparagingly  of  University 
training  and  honours,  assuming  invariably  that  she  agreed 
with  him,  and  that  she  foo  did  not  place  any  value  on 
her  Classical  Tripos  and  her  other  qualifications. 

"  You  would  not  talk  like  that  if  you  had  won  them 
yourself,"  Nora  said,  with  a  good  deal  of  spirit,  one  day. 
"  It  is  so  easy  to  depreciate  what  other  people  do,  but 
what  you  yourself  cannot  do.  It  is  a  delightful  way  of 
being  superior." 

But  he  continued  to  make  slighting  remarks  about 
University  education,  and  about  people  who  had  been 

76 


Attraction  and  Repulsion 

brought  up  within  the  narrow  confines  of  the  study,  and 
who,  coming  out  into  the  world,  were  armed  with  about 
as  much  real  knowledge  as  that  of  an  ordinary  babe. 
Nora  thought  of  the  Professor  of  Greek  at  Cambridge, 
and  the  Professor  of  History  at  Oxford,  and  of  the  many 
distinguished  scholars  with  whom  she  had  come  in  con- 
tact, and  she  smiled  down  in  cold  contempt  at  her  paltry 
little  stranger. 

"You  are  simply  jealous,"  she  said,  shrugging  her 
shoulders. 

"  Ah,  you  have  hurt  me,"  he  said,  as  though  in  sudden 
pain.  And  then  he  left  her,  and  she,  seeing  the  look 
of  suffering  on  his  face,  was  remorseful  that  she  had 
wounded  him. 

So  the  days  passed,  and  the  autumn  tints  crept  over 
the  foliage.  On  the  moors,  where  Nora  and  her  father 
and  Theodore  Bevan  walked,  now  alone  and  now  together, 
the  heather  and  the  gorse  still  spread  a  gorgeous  carpet. 
At  the  King's  Head,  the  ancestors  went  on  worrying, 
Mr.  William  Parrington  continued  to  pay  his  addresses 
to  Mrs.  Mary  Shaw,  and  the  little  stranger  sat  up  half 
the  night  writing  mysterious  records  in  his  mysterious 
journal.  Roger  Penhurst  played  the  organ  in  the  church; 
and  the  beautiful  old  Grancino  violoncello  was  carried 
there  by  David  the  blacksmith,  and  the  old  man  touched 
the  strings  and  awakened  the  very  soul  of  the  instrument, 
whilst  Nora  stood  by  listening  to  the  melodies  she  loved 
so  well — the  Boccherini  Andante  and  other  plaintive, 
old-world  Italian  fragments,  heard  always  at  their  best  in 
a  church  by  twilight.  Theodore  Bevan  came  to  listen 
too,  but  on  these  occasions  Nora  steadily  ignored  him ; 
he  did  not  care  for  music,  according  to  his  own  confes- 
sion, and  she  felt  as  though  he  spoilt  her  pleasure  by 
being  present.  She  said  as  much  to  him,  but  he  persisted 

77 


The  Fowler 

in  coming.  Nurse  Isabel  met  him  there  for  the  first 
time,  and  when  she  went  back  to  the  Castle  to  take  tea 
with  Nora,  she  found  him  already  installed  in  the  gate- 
house. They  looked  at  each  other,  these  two,  and 
declared  war  instantly. 

"  What  a  horrid  little  worm  !  "  Nurse  Isabel  said  to 
Nora  when  they  were  alone.  "  He  is  not  fit  to  dust 
your  shoes.  I  should  not  even  let  him  touch  mine,  and 
you  are  a  thousand  times  better  than  I  am." 

The  next  morning  Theodore  Bevan  said  to  Nora  : 
"What  an  objectionable  person  you  invited  to  your 
rooms   yesterday.     It  grieved  me  to  see  you  on    such 
easy  terms  with  her." 


The  Historian  Awakes 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    HISTORIAN    AWAKES 

THEODORE  BEVAN  sent  a  letter  one  afternoon  to  say 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  pay  his  daily  visit,  and  it 
so  happened  that  Nora's  father  had  gone  to  spend  the 
whole  day  at  the  neighbouring  town  of  Langton,  an 
interesting  oH-world  place  with  a  ruined  abbey.  He 
had  invited  her  to  come  with  him,  and  suggested  slyly 
that  they  should  steal  away  quite  alone. 

"  We  will  not  tell  a  soul  except  David,  who  will  lend 
us  his  trap,"  he  said,  coaxing  like  a  school-boy.  "  We 
will  have  one  of  our  splendid  outings,  such  as  I  have 
taught  you  to  enjoy,  my  Nora ;  and  we  will  eat  our 
dinner  at  the  oldest  inn,  see  over  the  church,  and  then 
go  on  to  the  abbey.  And  I  will  smoke  one  of  my  best 
cigars,  and  we  won't  breathe  a  word  to  a  soul.  4  We 
will  fold  our  tents  like  the  Arabs,  and  as  silently  steal 
away.'  " 

u  I  don't  think  I  care  to  go,  father,"  she  said.  "  An- 
other day.  I  feel  in  what  Mr  Bevan  would  call  a 
4  non-receptive  mood.'  " 

"  Oh,  damn  Mr  Bevan  !  "  her  father  said,  brusquely. 
"  Is  a  man  like  that  going  to  come  between  you  and 
me  ? " 

He  was  standing  on  the  drawbridge  leading  up  to  the 
gate-house,  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  walked  quickly  away 
until  he  reached  the  end  of  the  drawbridge,  and  then  as 
quickly  walked  back  again  to  Nora. 

"  I  am  sorry   I  damned  Mr  Bevan,"  he  said.     "  I'm 

79 


The  Fowler 

a   cross   old   fellow.     I  was  so  disappointed.     That  is 
all." 

"  Oh,  father,"  Nora  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I 
was  not  thinking  of  what  I  was  saying.  Forgive  me, 
and  let  me  come  with  you  after  all." 

u  Some  other  time,"  Roger  Penhurst  answered,  gently. 
"  I  think  I  will  go  alone  to-day." 

So  he  went  alone,  but  Nora  would  have  given  any- 
thing to  have  jumped  into  David's  gig  at  the  last 
moment,  and  put  her  arm  tightly  into  her  father's  arm. 
But  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  shy  of  him ;  he 
had  dismissed  her,  and  she  had  deserved  it. 

She  was  restless  during  the  whole  morning.  She 
started  for  a  walk  over  the  moors,  but  came  home  again. 
She  tried  to  correct  examination  papers,  and  gave  the 
task  up  as  hopeless.  She  strolled  down  to  the  river, 
and  turned  back  unsatisfied.  She  watched  great-uncle's 
sheep  being  branded,  and,  tiring  of  that,  she  went  into 
one  of  the  large  fields  at  the  back  of  the  King's  Head, 
and  watched  the  threshing-machine.  Wullie  and  another 
boy  stood  feeding  the  hungry  creature.  Then  she  moved 
on  to  the  field  beyond,  and  talked  for  a  few  mimutes 
with  the  thatcher,  who  was  busy  at  work  on  an  enor- 
mous hay-rick,  which  was  the  pride  of  Mrs  Mary  Shaw's 
heart.  And  there  stood  the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head 
gazing  at  it  triumphantly. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  as  she  turned  to  Nora.  "  Parrington 
ain't  got  nothing  that  like.  Why,  Miss  Nora  dear,  I  do 
declare  you  be  looking  dumpsy." 

"  I  am  rather  miserable  to-day,"  Nora  said,  smiling 
sadly.  "  Father  went  off  without  me,  and  it  was  all  my 
fault.  We  had  a  few  words  about  —  about  Mr  Bevan." 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  "he  don't  like  that 
little  viper  gentleman  any  more  than  I  does." 

80 


The  Historian  Awakes 

"  I  cannot  see  what  people  find  in  him  to  dislike  so 
much,"  Nora  said,  a  little  sharply ;  and  she  went  on  her 
way  to  the  Castle.  Mrs  Shaw  looked  for  some  minutes 
after  the  retreating  figure. 

"  Dear  Miss  Nora  be  wearing  her  apron  over  her  face 
to-day,"  she  said  to  herself. 

In  the  afternoon  Nora  determined  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
Moat  House,  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  Nurse  Isa- 
bel's patient.  She  had  seen  Nurse  Isabel  several  times 
since  their  meeting  on  the  moors,  and  she  would  have 
gone  there  before,  but  that  she  seemed  to  have  had  no 
opportunity.  Theodore  Bevan  took  up  a  great  deal  of 
her  time.  When  she  arrived  at  the  Moat  House  she 
lingered  outside  to  take  stock  of  the  fine  old  Elizabethan 
building  and  the  older  portion  with  its  fourteenth  century 
gate.  She  glanced  at  the  wonderful  yew  hedge,  dating 
back  to  the  time  of  Henry  VIII. ,  and  at  the  three  quaint 
pleasaunces ;  and  she  stood  on  the  lawn  and  looked  at 
the  blue  hills  in  the  distance.  It  was  a  beautiful  spot, 
and  she  felt  soothed. 

"  Father  must  come  here,"  she  thought. 

Then  Nurse  Isabel  touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"  Do  not  waste  another  moment  looking  at  the  scen- 
ery," she  said,  brightly.  "  Scenery  is  all  very  well  in  its 
way,  but  you  have  come  at  the  exact  time  to  relieve  a 
human  being's  misery.  My  afflicted  historian  is  utterly 
miserable  to-day,  and  has  had  a  bad  relapse.  Nothing 
can  cheer  him  up,  not  even  the  geography  book.  I  am 
sick  and  tired  of  him,  even  though  he  has  vastly  im- 
proved these  last  days.  Do  go  and  sit  with  him,  and 
see  what  you  can  do.  Tell  him  you  admire  his  work 
tremendously,  even  if  you  don't." 

"  But  I  do,"  said  Nora,  laughing. 

"  Well,  it  is  of  no  consequence  what  you  feel,  pro- 
6  81 


The  Fowler 

vided  you  praise  him,"  said  Nurse  Isabel.  "I  rather 
think  he  needs  a  little  praise.  I  find  it  very  difficult  to 
flatter  these  people,  but  they  all  want  it  in  the  long  run. 
How  glad  I  am  you  have  come !  It  is  good  to  see  you." 

There  was  a  note  of  real  kindness  and  welcome  in  her 
voice,  and  Nora  heard  it  and  answered  to  it  in  her  own 
friendly  manner.  The  two  women  walked  up  the  path 
together,  and  Nurse  Isabel  began  speaking  of  Theodore 
Bevan. 

"  That  is  a  strange  little  man,"  she  said.  "  I  know 
the  type  well.  I  am  too  much  a  woman  of  the  world 
not  to  recognise  a  good  man  when  I  see  him.  He  is 
not  a  good  man.  I  cannot  get  him  out  of  my  mind.  I 
dreamed  of  him  for  two  nights  after  I  had  seen  him. 
We  didn't  take  to  each  other,  I  fancy.  Indeed,  he 
looked  at  me  as  though  he  wished  to  order  my  instant 
execution.  I  wonder  he  didn't !  Do  tell  me  what  he 
said  of  me." 

Nora  laughed  a  little  uneasily. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  it  was  only  that  he  did  not  seem  to 
approve  of  you  any  more  than  you  of  him." 

u  Ah,  you  won't  tell  me,"  Nurse  Isabel  answered. 
"  Well,  the  worst  he  can  say  of  me  is  that  I  am  a  ridicu- 
lous and  vain  woman,  and  rather  underbred  in  spite  of 
my  pose  of  refinement.  But  I  am  not  bad-hearted,  Miss 
Penhurst.  And  that  is  just  what  he  is." 

Nora's  answer  approached  nearer  to  a  criticism  than 
any  remark  she  had  yet  made  concerning  Theodore 
Bevan. 

"  He  has  a  curious  effect  on  me,"  she  said,  dreamily : 
"  a  different  effect  at  different  times.  But  he  nearly  al- 
ways makes  me  feel  as  though  my  own  soul  did  not  be. 
long  to  myself." 

Nurse  Isabel  was  discreetly  silent,  and  they  entered 
82 


The  Historian  Awakes 

the  hall  of  the  Moat  House,  and  mounted  the  spacious 
staircase,  Nurse  Isabel  pointing  out  two  or  three  fine 
old  pictures  on  the  wall. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  take  you  into  my  histo- 
rian's room,  and  leave  you  to  yourselves,  and  I  shall  go 
and  write  some  letters  and  read  a  novel  sent  me  this 
morning  by  a  Captain  in  the  Hussars,  one  of  my  former 
patients.  It  will  be  a  real  holiday  for  me." 

She  opened  a  door,  and  they  went  into  a  cheerful 
room,  where  Brian  Uppingham  was  sitting  in  an  easy- 
chair  drawn  up  to  the  window  and  commanding  a  fine 
view  of  the  country. 

Nora  came  forward  with  an  easy  frankness  all  her  own. 

"  How  delightful  that  I  am  allowed  to  come  and  see 
the  famous  historian  !  "  she  said,  with  her  sunny  smile. 

Her  voice  fell  like  music  on  his  ear.  Her  presence 
broke  upon  him  like  a  flood  of  sunshine. 

"  How  delightful  it  is  that  you  have  been  willing  to 
come !  "  he  said,  with  a  sudden  thrill  in  his  whole  being. 
And  his  heart  went  out  to  her  instantly. 

"  Moreover,  she  has  chosen  the  right  day,"  said  Nurse 
Isabel,  quaintly,  "  a  day  when  even  the  geography- 
book  and  the  Standard  Atlas  have  not  had  their  usual 
exhilarating  effect." 

They  all  laughed,  and  Nurse  Isabel  went  to  her  own 
domains. 

"Nurse  Isabel  has  not  a  very  high  opinion  of  my 
cheerfulness,"  Brian  said,  turning  to  Nora.  "And  it 
is  true  enough  that  I  have  been  singing  a  monotonous 
song  in  a  minor  key." 

"  You  have  had  a  long  illness,"  Nora  said.  "  When 
you  are  stronger  in  body,  your  spirit  will  mend  itself 
too.  And  then  you  will  go  back  to  work,  and  finish 
your  History." 

83 


The  Fowler 

"  Ah,  that  is  just  it !  "  he  answered,  eagerly.  "  I 
seem  to  have  lost  confidence  in  myself,  and  do  not  feel 
as  though  I  could  ever  write  again.  Sometimes  I  dream 
that  the  old  power  and  pleasure  have  come  back,  and  I 
wake  up  reinvigorated  and  full  of  ambitious  determina- 
tion, and  then  in  a  moment  the  paralysing  doubts  seize 
me.  And  I  am  not  by  nature  a  miserable  fellow.  I 
suppose  it  is  simply  because  I  have  no  one  who  cares 
greatly  what  I  do  or  do  not  do." 

"  You  have  no  one  to  work  for  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  one,"  he  answered.  "  And  no  one  to  care 
whether  I  succeed  or  fail." 

"  But  you  yourself  would  care,"  she  said.  "  And 
surely,  there  is  the  joy  of  the  work  itself.  That  must 
count,  even  though  you  may  think  it  does  not." 

"  Oh,  it  counts,  I  suppose,"  he  said.  "  But  a  career 
is  not  everything.  It  may  be  one's  bread  —  but  it  can 
also  be  a  stone." 

"  I  think  you  must  be  a  little  ungrateful,"  she  said. 
"  Some  men  strive  and  fail  —  but  you  have  striven  and 
succeeded." 

"Ah,  I  am  not  really  ungrateful,"  he  said.  "But 
nothing  has  seemed  to  reach  me  since  I  lost,  first  my 
friend,  and  then  my  little  sister.  I  have  felt  as  though 
I  were  merely  a  spectator  of  some  one  else's  success : 
the  very  letters  which  came  to  me  seemed  as  though 
written  to  any  one  else  except  me.  And  when  you  have 
been,  as  it  were,  a  silent  spectator  for  many  months,  it 
is  not  a  very  easy  matter  to  step  on  to  the  stage,  and 
confidently  take  up  your  part  in  the  drama. 

"  But,"  he  added,  smiling  brightly,  "  I  am  already 
working  my  way  back  again  to  life  and  sunshine.  Even 
Nurse  Isabel  says  I  am  not  quite  as  dull  as  I  was  a 
fortnight  ago.  That  means  a  great  deal  from  her,  you 

84 


The  Historian  Awakes 

know.  I  sometimes  think  that  if  she  could  have  man- 
aged to  get  up  a  little  sympathy  for  me,  I  might  have 
gathered  myself  together  quicker." 

He  spoke  half-humorously,  but  there  was  a  ring  of 
pathos  in  his  voice  ;  and  Nora,  glancing  at  him,  felt  the 
strange  irony  of  the  situation  :  here  was  a  man  whom 
many  unknown  admirers  would  have  been  only  too  glad 
to  help  back  to  health  and  ease  of  mind  and  spirit,  and 
yet  perverse  fate  had  only  given  him  a  Nurse  Isabel. 
But  she  did  not  speak  a  word  of  what  passed  through 
her  mind.  He  did  not  need  pity  :  he  needed  a  little 
understanding  and  generous  appreciation.  The  man  was 
starved.  So  she  spoke  to  him  about  his  book,  which  she 
and  her  father  had  carefully  studied.  She  had  an  excel- 
lent memory,  and  she  was  able  to  refer  to  some  of  the 
chapters  and  one  or  two  of  the  passages,  over  which  she 
became  sincerely  enthusiastic. 

"  With  such  an  interpreter  as  you  are,"  she  said,"  the 
history  of  thought  and  action  takes  on  new  life,  sheds 
new  light  on  the  past,  and  is  a  torch  for  the  future.  I 
do  not  wonder  at  the  welcome  you  have  received.  All 
those  who  study  and  think,  were  waiting  for  you.  All  I 
wonder  at  is  that  you  yourself  do  not  care  more.  If 
I  were  you,  Mr  Uppingham,  my  heart  c  would  leap  to 
the  glorious  day.'  ' 

"  It  does,"  he  said,  eagerly.     "  You  have  made  it  !  " 

"  Don't  you  see,"  she  continued,  "  that  power  like 
yours  is  one  of  God's  greatest  gifts;  and  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  such  power  ought  to  save  you,  and  every- 
one like  you,  from  sinking  into  the  apathy  of  despair  ? 
Nothing  can  take  it  from  you  except  death,  when  you 
leave  it  behind  for  us." 

Then  she  looked  at  him,  and  a  beautiful  white-crested 
wave  of  sympathy  went  from  her  towards  him ;  and 

85 


The  Fowler 

when  it  had  passed,  she  was  conscious  of  what  she  had 
been  saying,  and  became  confused. 

"  But  it  is  presumptuous  of  me  to  talk  to  you  like 
this,"  she  said,  gathering  herself  together  —  "venturing 
to  praise  you,  who  have  received  so  much  praise  — 
venturing  —  " 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  interrupting,  "  your  words  are  like  a 
river  in  a  dry  land :  refreshing  the  weary  spirit  by  its 
music,  and  renewing  the  pulse  of  life  by  its  clear  strong 
waters." 

They  were  silent  for  a  time  ;  then  she  took  up  a 
book,  and  offered  to  read  to  him. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me  something  about  your- 
self instead." 

So,  without  any  preliminaries,  she  told  him  about  her 
picturesque  lodgings  in  the  gate-house,  and  about  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw  and  Mr  William  Parrington,  and  all  the 
ancestors.  And  she  spoke  of  her  dear  old  father  and 
her  happy  companionship  with  him,  and  of  her  teach- 
ing and  her  holidays,  and  those  everlasting  examina- 
tion papers  over  which  she  had  dawdled  so  shamefully, 
that  she  would  now  be  obliged  to  shut  herself  up  in  her 
room  and  "  put  pressure  "  on  herself  for  a  couple  of 
days.  She  smiled  as  she  involuntarily  used  Theodore 
Bevan's  favourite  expression,  and  for  a  moment  her 
thoughts  turned  uneasily  to  him.  But  when  she  glanced 
at  the  bright,  eager  face  lifted  so  confidently  to  hers,  the 
phantom  of  the  little  stranger  with  the  broad  eye-glass 
ribbon  melted  away  at  once,  and  she  went  on  speaking 
freely  of  her  teaching  and  of  her  life  at  Grantham  Col- 
lege ;  and  as  he  seemed  so  interested  in  everything  she 
said,  she  told  him  about  some  of  her  friends  there  who 
had  been  at  school  with  her  previously,  and  had  moved 
on  to  Grantham  at  the  same  time  as  herself. 

86 


The  Historian  Awakes 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  delighted  to  speak  of  her  schooldays. 
"  We  all  came  up  from  Cherbury  College  together, 
where  we  were  ridiculously  happy.  The  lady  who 
kept  our  schoolhouse  had  a  theory  that  if  we  were  not 
happy  there,  we  should  lose  all  chance  of  happiness 
hereafter.  She  did  not  like  to  see  us  overworking 
either;  but  I  must  say  I  never  bothered  her  in  that 
respect." 

"  That  is  where  my  little  sister  was,"  Brian  said. 
u  Cherbury  !  And  you  were  there  too  ?  Ah,  how  glad 
I  am  that  we  can  talk  together  of  the  place  !  " 

"  Not  now,"  she  said,  kindly,  for  she  knew  of  the 
trouble  which  had  befallen  him.  "  We  will  speak  of 
Cherbury  some  day  when  you  are  less  tired." 

"  No  —  now,"  he  answered,  insistingly ;  and  Nora 
gave  way  and  let  him  ease  his  heart.  He  drew  from 
his  book  a  photograph  of  the  Great  Hall,  and  showed 
her  where  his  sister  had  her  desk.  He  was  delighted 
when  Nora  was  able  to  identify  her  own  place. 

"  I  was  so  very  proud  of  her,"  he  said.  "  She  was 
such  a  splendid  little  girl,  and  had  the  pluck  of  ten  in 
her ;  and  she  would  have  made  a  capital  mountaineer 
in  time.  I  and  my  friend  whom  I  lost  in  the  moun- 
tains had  been  planning  to  take  her  with  us  to  Switzer- 
land the  next  year,  when  she  would  have  finished  her 
London  Matriculation  ;  but,  you  see,  things  turned  out 
differently  from  what  we  expected." 

He  paused,  and  Nora  was  silent  too. 

"  We  had  arranged  that  she  should  be  a  doctor,"  he 
continued,  proudly.  "  All  her  interests  were  in  that 
direction,  and  I  had  always  intended,  of  course,  that  she 
should  have  a  profession  or  trade.  Ah !  we  had  the 
happiest  life  together  —  she  and  I  and  my  friend  John 
Graham.  He  was  with  us  most  of  the  time ;  and  when 


The  Fowler 

she  came  back  from  college  there  was  not  a  jollier  trio 
in  the  world  than  we  three." 

u  Poor  fellow  ! "  Nora  said,  gently.  "  And  now  you 
are  alone." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  has  been  balm  to  my  heart  to 
speak  of  them  to  you.  I  felt  that  I  could,  and  that  I 
might.  One  knows  by  instinct  with  whom  one  must 
be  silent,  and  to  whom  one  may  let  oneself  go." 

At  that  moment  Nurse  Isabel  came  strolling  into  the 
room. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  genially,  "  and  have  you  made 
friends,  or  have  you  been  quarrelling  over  the  political 
aspect  in  the  reign  of  King  Thomas  a  Becket  ?  " 


The  Ancestors  Give  Trouble 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    ANCESTORS    GIVE    TROUBLE 

ONE  morning  all  the  ancestors  woke  up  in  bad  tempers. 
Mrs  Mary  Shaw  also  woke  up  in  a  bad  temper,  and  was 
therefore  unable  to  make  allowances  for  the  irritating 
peculiarities  of  the  three  previous  generations.  Great- 
great-aunt,  Miss  Rebeccah  Renaldson,  made  several 
spiteful  allusions  to  Mr  William  Parrington,  and  com- 
plained, in  addition,  that  every  day  she  was  being  neglected 
more  and  more. 

"  That's  what  comes  of  being  old,"  she  grumbled. 
"  The  young  don't  take  no  notice  of  the  old.  Not  that 
you  are  particular  young,"  she  added,  quickly.  "  You're 
aging  wonderful  quick." 

Great-uncle,  too,  was  quite  out  of  sorts.  He  had 
broken  his  favourite  clay-pipe,  and  was  discovered  on  the 
bench  in  front  of  the  King's  Head,  swearing  without 
interruption,  and  reading  the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah 
upside  down.  It  probably  made  but  little  difference 
which  position  he  chose  for  the  sacred  volume;  for  he 
had  been  over  to  the  Miners'  Tavern,  and  consumed 
considerably  more  spirituous  liquor  than  was  advisable  for 
a  gentleman  of  eighty-four  years.  (He  did  not  give  his 
custom  to  the  King's  Head,  having  more  belief  in  the 
excellence  of  the  beverages  supplied  by  another  house, 
and  feeling,  no  doubt,  more  independence  in  being  at  a 
distance  from  Mrs  Mary  Shaw's  watchful  supervision.) 
In  addition  to  this  escapade,  he  had  insisted  on  doing  a 
little  carpentering ;  and  having  mistaken  his  finger  for  a 

89 


The  Fowler 

piece  of  wood,  had  inflicted  injuries  which  might  have 
been  serious.  It  was  a  remarkable  fact  that  he  was 
always  seized  with  a  feverish  desire  to  work  at  the  car- 
penter's bench  whenever  he  had  paid  a  visit  to  the  Miners' 
Tavern.  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  was  rather  impatient  with 
him,  and  told  him  she  was  ashamed  of  him  for  going  and 
getting  too  much  to  drink,  and  then  nearly  cutting  his 
finger  off. 

"No  respectable  old  gentleman  of  eighty-four  does 
such  things,"  she  said,  sternly. 

"  There's  not  many  at  eighty-four  as  can  do  'em,  Mary 
Shaw,"  he  answered,  rebelliously ;  and  there  he  con- 
tinued to  sit,  reading  his  Bible  upside  down  and  swearing 
quietly. 

Reuben  too,  her  gentle  old  father,  was  quite  different 
from  his  usual  dreamy  self.  Il  appears  that  he  had  col- 
lected some  special  herbs  on  which  he  set  great  store,  and 
which  he  intended  to  convert  into  some  infallible  remedy 
for  rheumatism,  or  typhoid  fever,  or  toothache  —  it  did 
not  matter  which,  and  Wullie  had  thrown  them  away ; 
whether  deliberately  or  accidentally  was  not  quite  clear 
to  any  one,  and  even  Wullie  himself  did  not  seem  to 
know. 

Reuben,  in  his  indignation,  said  so  many  angry  things 
against  Wullie  that  Mrs  Mary  Shaw's  mother's  heart 
rose  up  in  rebellion  against  her  father,  and  she  took  a 
somewhat  contemptuous  view  of  his  loss. 

"  Valuable  herbs,  indeed,"  she  said,  scornfully.  "  Any- 
thing would  do  just  as  well  for  them  rotten  medicines. 
You  can  have  as  much  cabbage  or  turnip  from  the  garden 
as  you  please." 

Reuben's  pride  was  wounded,  and  he  remained  deeply 
injured  for  the  whole  of  the  day,  and  refused  to  eat. 
Mrs  Shaw  was  always  worked  up  when  people  lost  their 

90 


The  Ancestors  Give  Trouble 

appetites  —  she  expected  them  to  give  up  the  ghost  im- 
mediately ;  so  she  coaxed  him  with  several  dainties, 
including  buttered  toast,  a  special  fancy  of  his  j  but 
nothing  tempted  him,  and  he  was  heard  to  murmur  to 
himself  several  times : 

"  Cabbage  and  turnip,  indeed,  ignorant  idiot !  " 

It  was  at  the  close  of  this  stormy  day  that  Mr  William 
Parrington  arrived  at  the  King's  Head,  and  found  Mrs 
Shaw  in  one  of  her  dejected  moods. 

"  What's  gone  wrong  ?  "  asked  the  host  of  the  Punch- 
bowl, lighting  his  pipe. 

"  Oh,  it's  them  ancestors  been  giving  trouble,"  an- 
swered Mrs  Shaw. 

"  Blast  them,  I  say  !  "  remarked  Mr  Parrington,  thump- 
ing his  fist  on  his  knee. 

Mrs  Shaw  nodded  her  head  approvingly,  and  seemed 
relieved. 

"  Great-uncle  took  too  much  to  drink  and  nearly  cut 
his  finger  off,"  she  said. 

"  Pity  he  didn't  cut  his  neck  off  and  have  done  with 
it !  "  suggested  Parrington. 

"  Father  lost  some  of  them  silly  herbs  of  his,  and  flew 
into  a  temper ;  and  because  I  said  turnips  would  do  as 
well,  he  settled  down  into  the  sulks  and  won't  eat,"  said 
Mrs  Shaw.  "  He'll  fall  ill  and  die,  and  I'll  never  raise 
my  head  no  more." 

"  People  don't  die  of  the  sulks,"  remarked  Parrington, 
philosophically.  "  All  the  sulky  folk  I  ever  knew,  lived 
a  terrible  long  time.  Sulks  is  a  sort  of  life-preserver." 

"  Great-great-aunt  complains  she's  neglected,"  said  Mrs 
Shaw,  who  was  visibly  cheering  up ;  u  she  says  all  old 
persons  be  neglected  and  pushed  on  one  side,  and  that  I 
put  too  much  salt  in  her  broth,  and  that  I'm  aging 
wonderful  quick." 


The  Fowler 

"  Nasty,  spiteful  old  cuss  !  "  said  Mr  Parrington,  with 
fervour.  "  If  she  couldn't  get  rid  of  her  spitefulness  at 
ninety-three  year  old,  it  don't  say  much  for  the  beauty 
of  old  age,  do  it  ?  And  as  for  you  aging  wonderful 
quick,  I  never  saw  you  look  younger  in  your  life ;  you 
might  be  Wullie's  sister  in  place  of  his  mother." 

"  Oh,  Mr  Parrington  !  "  interposed  Mrs  Shaw,  much 
gratified. 

"The  other  day  when  I  was  in  Langton,"  said  Par- 
rington, confidentially,  "  I  was  just  taking  a  look  round 
at  the  jewellers'  shops,  when  I  see  this  mighty  nice  little 
ring." 

"  It  wouldn't  fit  my  finger,  Parrington,"  said  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw,  smiling. 

"  I  never  told  you  I  bought  it  for  your  finger,"  an- 
swered Mr  Parrington.  "I  thought  it  might  do  for  a 
lady  friend  of  mine  in  Liverpool.  She  wouldn't  refuse 
it,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Then  I'd  send  it  to  her,"  suggested  Mrs  Shaw,  still 
smiling.  "  It  ain't  pleasant  having  a  gift  refused,  is  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  pretty  well  hardened  to  that,"  said  Parrington, 
glancing  at  her  mischievously.  "  You've  taught  me. 
Why,  I've  offered  to  you  the  best  gift  a  man  can  offer — 
hisself,  and  you've  refused  me  nineteen  times." 

"  I'm  not  sure,  Mr  Parrington,  that  the  best  thing  a 
man  can  offer  is  himself,"  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw.  "It  all 
depends  on  the  man.  I  don't  think  much  of  men,  though 
there  is  one  or  two  nice  exceptions  —  Miss  Nora's 
father,  and  Cousin  Susie's  husband  in  Yarmouth ;  though 
now  I  come  to  remember,  he  broke  out  into  religion 
lately ;  so  that  only  leaves  Miss  Nora's  father  and  —  " 

"  And  me  !  "  said  Parrington,  pleadingly. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul,  I  think  you're  right,"  replied 
Mrs  Shaw,  laughing. 

92 


The  Ancestors  Give  Trouble 

"  Then  you'll  wear  the  engagement  ring  ? "  said  Par- 
rington,  triumphantly.  "  It  will  fit  the  little  finger. 
Now  don't  be  like  your  ancestors,  always  giving 
trouble." 

"  I  can't  think  of  wearing  it  until  you've  bought  an- 
other just  like  it  for  your  lady  friend  in  Liverpool,"  an- 
swered Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  who  now  seemed  in  excellent 
spirits,  and  had  forgotten  all  the  worries  of  a  particularly 
trying  day. 

"  I'll  soon  square  that  matter,"  said  Parrington. 
"  Here,  now,  my  dear,  just  slip  it  on  !  " 

He  might  perhaps  have  succeeded  in  coaxing  the  ob- 
stinate hostess  of  the  King's  Head,  but  that  a  trap  drove 
up  to  the  inn  and  Mrs  Shaw  bustled  out  to  see  who  her 
guest  might  be.  Her  face  fell  when  she  found  it  was 
only  Theodore  Bevan.  She  had  forgotten  he  was  com- 
ing back  that  evening. 

"  I  have  had  my  supper,"  he  said,  without  looking  at 
her.  "  I  desired  to  save  you  the  trouble." 

"  Save  me  the  trouble  !  "  she  repeated,  when  she  came 
into  the  kitchen  again.  "  That's  what  he's  always 
doing,  the  little  horror.  I  can't  abide  him,  Parrington. 
And  I've  no  reason  for  it.  He  pays  regular,  and  gives 
no  trouble.  I  thought  a  deal  more  of  that  artist-chap 
last  year,  who  never  paid  a  penny,  and  ate  five  meals 
a-day.  How  he  did  enjoy  them,  to  be  sure !  " 

"  Well,"  answered  Parrington,  u  that's  always  the 
way.  We  always  likes  best  the  folk  who  give  us  the 
most  trouble.  There's  yourself,  Mrs  Mary  Shaw. 
That  be  a  very  good  instance  !  " 


93 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A    GREAT    RESPONSIBILITY 

"  So  you  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  historian," 
Theodore  Bevan  said,  as  he  watched  Nora  working  at 
some  embroidery  which  seemed  to  be  engaging  a  great 
deal  of  her  attention.  He  found  her  in  a  "  non-recep- 
tive mood  "  this  afternoon,  and  wondered  what  he  could 
do  or  say  to  arouse  her  interest. 

"  Yes,  I  have  made  his  acquaintance,"  Nora  answered, 
without  looking  up.  Indeed,  he  was  pervading  all  her 
thoughts,  and  as  she  spoke  of  him,  she  flushed. 

After  that  Theodore  Bevan  remained  perfectly  silent, 
smoked  his  cigarette,  and  leaned  back  comfortably  in  the 
arm-chair. 

"  Personally,  I  consider  his  work  very  uninteresting," 
said  Bevan,  after  a  pause.  "  Of  course,  I  do  not  say 
that  there  are  not  some  remarkable  chapters  in  his  His- 
tory :  that  chapter,  for  instance,  on  the  Reformation ; 
but  on  the  whole,  I  think  the  book  is  a  failure.  He  has 
not  sufficient  grasp  to  handle  such  a  great  theme.  He 
should  keep  to  short  historical  sketches.  He  does  those 
well.  There  he  is  within  his  limits." 

"  You  seem  very  decided  in  your  opinions,"  Nora  re- 
marked, a  little  irritated. 

"  I  have  a  very  strong  belief  in  my  own  opinions,"  he 
answered.  "And  I  have  reason  for  it.  You  know  I 
have  trained  myself  to  observe,  to  think,  to  analyse,  to 
put  together,  and  to  conclude.  I  can  remember  be- 
ginning the  process  when  I  was  quite  a  small  boy, 

94 


A  Great  Responsibility 

and  of  course,  as  the  years  went  on,  I  perfected  my 
system." 

"  But,"  said  Nora,  "  a  man  may  be  a  good  analytical 
chemist,  or  a  good  detective,  without  being  a  good 
critic." 

"  Quite  possibly,"  he  said,  casually.  "  But  he  may 
also  be  all  three." 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  and  seemed  engrossed  in  his 
own  thoughts. 

"  I  had  a  desolate  kind  of  boyhood,"  he  said,  after 
another  long  spell  of  quiet,  "  and  I  don't  know  why  I 
am  thinking  of  it  specially  to-day,  except  that  I  am  a 
good  deal  impressed  with  your  father's  personality.  A 
temperament  like  his  is  a  gift  from  the  gods,  but  for  all 
that,  it  could  only  have  developed  in  a  congenial  and 
fostering  environment.  And  then  I  think  of  my  own 
early  environment." 

This  was  the  first  time  Theodore  Bevan  had  ever 
spoken  of  himself,  and  Nora's  curiosity  was  aroused  at 
once.  His  voice,  always  pleasing  to  the  ear,  sounded 
unusually  melodious,  and  his  face  wore  an  expression 
of  intense  sadness. 

"  My  mother  and  father  were  indifferent  to  each 
other,"  he  continued,  "  and  quite  casual  about  me.  My 
mother  did  not  take  the  slightest  interest  in  anything, 
and  my  father  certainly  never  knew  anything  at  all 
about  what  your  father  calls  c  the  wine  of  life.'  I  don't 
remember  a  single  word  of  enthusiasm  ever  passing  their 
lips.  They  belonged  to  that  large  section  of  English 
middle-class  life,  where  enthusiasm  is  considered  a  de- 
plorable want  of  suitable  self-control,  and  emotions  of 
any  sort  are  regarded  as  disturbing  discords  in  the  every- 
day regulation  dulness.  They  amused  me  greatly,  and 
puzzled  me  too;  they  had  no  pleasure  in  each  other's 

95 


The  Fowler 

society,  and  there  was  constant  nagging  and  fault-finding 
on  both  sides ;  but  when  the  anniversary  of  the  engage- 
ment and  wedding  day  came  round,  they  suddenly  con- 
jured up  a  small  quantity  of  false  sentimentality,  which 
just  lasted  for  the  two  days.  I  used  sometimes  to  think 
that  it  could  not  possibly  hold  out  to  the  very  end,  but 
it  always  did.  I  had  no  one  to  whom  I  could  speak  of 
these  and  other  things,  and  so  I  meditated  over  them 
alone,  and  they  sank  into  my  system.  If  I  could  have 
spoken  of  them,  I  should  have  freed  myself  from  them 
only  too  gladly  :  any  child  would,  and  every  grown-up 
person.  But  I  had  not  the  chance.  So  it  was  in  this 
way  that  I  learned  to  observe  and  analyse,  and  put 
together  and  conclude.  Now,  compare  my  early  en- 
vironment with  the  surroundings  which  a  man  like  your 
father  must  have  had,  and  the  influence  of  which  he  has 
certainly  passed  on  to  you.  I  have  the  right  to  envy 
you  both,  almost  with  hatred  and  uncharitableness  in  my 
heart.  Why  should  such  chances  have  been  given  to 
you  and  withheld  from  me  ?  Sometimes  when  I  talk 
with  your  father,  I  am  overwhelmed  with  the  rush  of 
my  own  feelings.  He  attracts  me  —  and  of  course  I 
repel  him.  But  I  am  accustomed  to  that.  People  in 
general  do  not  like  me,  and  I  am  not  surprised  at  it  : 
for  you  see,  I  never  learnt  anything  about  kindli- 
ness and  tenderness,  and  I  was  brought  up  on  mock 
sentimentality." 

Nora  was  listening  intently :  she  had  not  expected 
this  kind  of  language  from  Theodore  Bevan. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  I  can  generally  work  through  this 
period  of  dislike  when  I  choose,  and  when  it  is  worth 
while  to  make  the  effort.  Many  things  in  life  are  not 
worth  troubling  about,  but  some  are,  and  we  are  fools 
and  faint-hearted  if  we  let  them  slip :  fools  indeed,  if 

96 


A  Great  Responsibility 

we  do  not  strain  every  nerve,  and  fight  through  all  our 
inherent  disadvantages  in  order  to  attain  to  them.  And 
if  you  have  been  starved  and  cheated  in  your  youth,  as 
I  have  been,  you  will  feel  that  you  are  owed  some  com- 
pensation for  all  you  have  missed,  and  that  you  have 
the  right  to  make  straight  for  what  seems  to  you  a  real 
satisfaction.  And  the  greater  your  former  destitution, 
the  stronger  your  determination  to  pay  yourself  back. 
People  may  stand  by,  and  wonder  and  criticise  and 
sneer:  but  you  can  pass  them  by  without  a  sign  and 
without  a  word,  for  they  do  not  come  into  your  scene 
of  action  ;  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  they  might  not 
exist.  No  doubt  they  have  their  significance  in  some 
other  scheme,  but  that  is  of  no  moment  to  you." 

His  words,  spoken  so  deliberately  and  coldly,  sent  a 
chill  through  Nora's  heart.  She  knew  by  instinct  that 
he  intended  her  to  understand  that  he  had  sought  her 
companionship  as  one  of  bis  payments  back.  Was  it  any 
great  compliment,  she  thought,  to  be  included  in  this 
man's  horizon  ?  Would  it  not  be  better  and  safer  to 
have  no  significance  whatever  in  his  scheme  of  action  ? 
Some  such  remark  rose  to  her  lips,  but  she  found  her- 
self unable  to  give  it  utterance ;  there  was,  however,  a 
slight  shrinking  in  her  manner  which  did  not  escape 
Theodore  Bevan's  keen  observation  ;  and  when  he  spoke 
again,  the  tension  of  his  address  had  relaxed,  and  the 
incisive  tones  of  his  voice  had  lost  their  sharpness.  He 
looked  up  at  her,  and  smiled  sadly. 

u  I  think  I  become  an  undesirable  comrade  when  I 
speak  of  my  childhood,"  he  said.  "  I  am  carried  away 
by  my  bitter  sense  of  irreparable  wrong.  I  must  beg 
indulgence." 

"  You  are  indeed  bitter,"  said  Nora,  slowly.     "  One 
wonders  whether  indulgence  should  be  granted  to  you, 
7  97 


The  Fowler 

and  on  what  grounds.  One  wonders,  too,  whether  you 
should  be  allowed  to  pay  yourself  back  in  any  way  you 
choose,  without  consulting  any  one's  wishes  except  your 
own." 

u  Ah,"  he  said,  "  that  is  a  question  of  individuality 
and  relative  strength." 

He  had  risen  from  the  chair,  and  stood  before  the  fire- 
place, his  hands  behind  him  and  his  head  slightly  bowed, 
just  as  a  child  might  stand  who  has  been  reproved  and  is 
ashamed. 

"  Each  time  I  have  been  with  you,"  he  said,  almost 
pleadingly,  "  I  have  come  away  feeling  softened,  and 
with  some  of  the  soreness  healed.  It  could  not  have 
been  otherwise.  Each  time  I  have  left  you,  whether 
here,  or  in  the  woods,  or  on  the  moors,  the  same  words 
have  rushed  to  my  lips,  and  when  alone,  I  have  spoken 
them  aloud.  Do  not  judge  me  harshly,  for  you  have  a 
great  responsibility." 

Then  he  stepped  forward  to  Nora's  writing-table,  took 
two  of  his  books  which  he  had  placed  there,  and  passed 
quietly  out  of  the  room.  Nora  watched  him  from  the 
casement-window,  and  turned  away  uneasily. 


98 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Eagle  Club 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AN    AFTERNOON    AT    THE    EAGLE    CLUB 

IT  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Eagle  Club  were  making  their  way  upstairs 
to  the  spacious  new  reception-rooms,  open  for  the  first 
time  in  honour  of  .the  President's  return,  after  her  long 
tour  in  the  United  States  of  America.  She  was  tall  and 
graceful,  and  had  a  refined  face  and  a  natural  charm  of 
manner  which  made  itself  felt  at  the  very  moment  when 
you  were  brought  into  contact  with  her.  The  members 
of  the  Eagle  Club  were  lucky  in  having  secured  her  as 
their  President,  and  she  had  carefully  guarded  them  from 
making  themselves  ridiculous  and  rushing  into  extrava- 
gances of  opinion  and  procedure.  She  herself  did  not 
pose,  and  therefore  she  did  not  gather  around  her  any  of 
the  posing  women  of  the  day  :  they  went  and  posed  in  a 
more  congenial  soil,  whilst  she  attracted  the  real  workers 
of  the  generation,  who  forgot  their  own  individualities  in 
their  enthusiasms,  and  were  not  eternally  sounding  the 
personal  note.  She  had  around  her,  in  fact,  the  younger 
women,  many  of  whom  had  had  the  advantage  of  a 
systematic  training,  which  usually  results  in  some  kind 
of  self-restraint  and  reticence,  and  a  better  understanding 
of  the  proportion  of  things. 

The  rooms  were  quickly  filling  with  members,  most 
of  whom  had  brought  friends  with  them,  chiefly  women 
themselves,  though  here  and  there  one  might  see  the 
face  of  a  man.  The  President,  Mrs  Carew,  was  sur- 
rounded by  people  all  eager  for  an  opportunity  of  wel- 

99 


The  Fowler 

coming  her  home  to  the  dear  old  country.  Although  it 
was  an  informal  social  gathering,  they  very  much  wished 
her  to  say  a  few  words  to  them  about  her  travels  and 
experiences ;  and  she  laughingly  answered  that  she  prob- 
ably would  not  be  able  to  help  herself,  since  out  in 
America  she  had  become  so  accustomed  to  speaking  on 
every  occasion,  whether  suitable  or  unsuitable,  that  her 
difficulty  now  would  be  to  recognise  when  to  maintain 
a  golden  silence. 

"  Out  in  America,  you  know,"  she  said,  "  all  the 
women  can  speak  well,  and  they  do  so  on  the  slightest 
opportunity.  They  apparently  must  do  so  —  it  is  greater 
than  themselves !  " 

Whilst  she  was  thus  chatting  in  a  further  corner  of 
the  rooms,  a  few  young  women  were  standing  round  a 
little  lady  who  had  just  come  amongst  them.  She  was 
slight  and  dark,  and  had  soft  brown  eyes,  but  an  exceed- 
ingly determined  mouth,  and  a  square  jaw. 

"  Oh,  I  am  delighted  to  be  back  in  London,"  she  was 
saying,  "  but,  of  course,  I  have  had  a  most  interesting 
time  in  Paris,  and  Sweden  too.  I  worked  very  hard  and 
happily  in  Paris  over  the  gold  tooling,  and  my  master 
was  a  real  old-world  artist-craftsman.  He  was  quite 
sentimental  over  his  work,  and  could  scarcely  bear  to 
part  with  the  volumes  which  he  had  been  binding  and 
decorating.  I  don't  wonder  either.  It  is  horrid  to 
think  that  the  books  over  which  you  have  expended 
so  much  love  and  labour  are  going  into  some  one  else's 
library." 

u  Where  shall  you  have  your  bindery,  Miss  Carson  ?  " 
asked  one  of  her  listeners. 

"  In  my  own  rooms,  at  present,"  she  answered.  "  I 
have  several  private  orders  to  carry  out,  and  they  will 
take  me  a  long  time.  I  am  going  to  bind,  according 

100 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Eagle  Club 

to  my  own  fancy,  a  whole  set  of  Robert  Browning's 
works  for  some  rich  old  recluse  in  Somersetshire.  Each 
volume  is  to  be  different." 

"You  are  lucky  to  slip  into  work  at  once,"  said  an 
elderly  lady,  with  a  sigh.  "  Some  people  try  all  their 
lives,  and  never  get  a  fair  chance." 

"  Or  perhaps  do  not  recognise  when  it  comes,"  sug- 
gested some  one  else. 

"Or  perhaps  are  frightened  to  lay  hold  of  it,"  said 
another. 

At  that  moment  a  lady,  followed  closely  by  a  gentle- 
man, advanced  to  Madge  Carson. 

"Miss  Carson,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Gerald  Hamilton 
desires  greatly  to  make  your  acquaintance.  He  is  him- 
self much  interested  in  bookbinding  and  would  like  to 
speak  with  you." 

For  one  moment  Madge  Carson  hesitated,  but  seeing 
the  gentleman  so  near  at  hand,  she  bowed  slightly,  and 
began  to  talk  with  him,  but  as  soon  as  she  could  free 
herself,  she  moved  back  to  her  former  companions. 

"I  am  rather  surprised  that  you  allowed  yourself  to 
be  introduced  to  a  man  of  such  notorious  character  as 
Gerald  Hamilton,"  said  one  of  her  friends.  "  I  thought 
you  felt  strongly  on  all  those  matters." 

"I  am  rather  surprised  that  he  is  allowed  to  be  pres- 
ent here,"  replied  Madge  Carson,  warmly.  "  Being  here, 
one  has  no  right  to  insult  him  openly.  But  I  shall  make 
my  complaint  to  the  President  at  once.  It  is  for  her 
to  deal  with  this  matter,  and  not  for  me." 

She  wound  her  way  through  the  maze  of  guests, 
stopping  now  and  again  to  exchange  a  word  with  some 
one  who  recognised  her  bright  face  and  pleasing  appear- 
ance, and  finally  she  found  herself  side  by  side  with  the 
President. 


The  Fowler 

"  Mrs.  Carew,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  that  odious  man 
Gerald  Hamilton  is  in  the  room,  and,  against  all  my 
wishes,  of  course,  I  had  to  be  introduced  to  him.  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  know." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Mrs.  Carew,  just  as  quietly, 
and  she  continued  her  conversation  with  the  Parsee  lady 
who  had  taken  such  high  honours  in  medicine  at  the 
London  University.  But  after  a  few  minutes  she 
passed  over  to  the  corner  where  Gerald  Hamilton  was 
standing. 

"  Mr.  Hamilton,"  she  said,  quite  courteously,  "  I  do 
not  at  present  know  at  whose  invitation  you  came 
amongst  us  to-day,  but  I  think  there  must  have  been 
some  mistake.  We  are  trying  the  whole  time  to  con- 
duct the  Club,  as  far  as  possible,  on  the  same  lines  as 
one  of  the  best  Men's  Clubs.  I  am  quite  sure  that  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Bayard,  for  instance,  would  not  care 
to  admit  to  a  social  gathering  of  this  description  a 
woman  of  notorious  character." 

41  May  I  ask  who  you  are  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little  haughtily, 
but  his  dissipated  face  flushed  crimson. 

"I  am  the  President  of  the  Club,"  she  answered. 
"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Hamilton." 

She  did  not  even  wait  to  see  whether  he  intended 
to  take  his  departure,  for  she  knew  he  had  understood. 
He  passed  down  the  stairs  slowly,  and  when  out  on  the 
street,  whistled  a  tune  softly  as  he  went  along. 

"  Blessed  are  the  women  who  don't  make  scenes," 
he  said  to  himself;  u  for  they  shall  inherit  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  —  and  the  world  too.  I  congratulate  the  Club 
on  its  President." 

Meanwhile  Madge  Carson  had  rejoined  her  little 
group  of  friends,  and  was  keeping  them  entertained 
with  her  descriptions  of  her  master  the  old  Parisian 

102 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Eagle  Club 

bookbinder ;  and  when,  she  looked  up  again  she  saw  that 
Gerald  Hamilton  had  gone. 

"Now  was  not  that  much  better  than  making  a 
scene  ? "  she  asked.  "  The  man  has  been  dismissed 
quietly,  I  dare  say  even  artistically.  Men  hate  and 
despise  scenes,  but  they  adore  tact.  It  is  about  the 
only  virtue  which  people  of  Gerald  Hamilton's  stamp 
appreciate  and  respect.  He  has  gone,  you  see,  and  no 
doubt  he  is  thinking  this  very  moment  that  the  Club 
has  a  clever  President." 

"  If  that  is  all  he  is  thinking  of  he  has  not  learnt  much 
from  his  dismissal,"  remarked  one  of  the  little  circle. 

"  He  has  learnt  that  at  least  one  section  of  modern 
educated  women  desire  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him," 
replied  Madge  Carson ;  "  and  if  all  the  other  sections 
would  follow  suit  without  any  fuss,  but  just  as  a  matter 
of  course,  then  the  Gerald  Hamiltons  of  the  world  might 
perhaps  begin  to  disappear.  I  only  say  perhaps.  But 
even  if  there  were  merely  a  bare  possibility,  the  experi- 
ment would  be  worth  while." 

Then,  turning  to  her  neighbour,  she  said :  "  Mrs 
Ellerton,  do  you  remember  my  telling  you  how  Theo- 
dore Bevan  used  to  say  that  if  you  begin  by  assuming 
that  certain  things  will  take  place,  you  have  already 
given  them  the  most  important  impetus  ?  I  always 
thought  that  so  clever  and  true  too.  For  instance,  he 
deliberately  assumed  that  people  wanted  his  society, 
even  if  he  saw  that  they  did  not.  But  they  ended  by 
wanting  him.  However,  I  was  not  specially  wishing  to 
speak  of  him,  only  the  thought  of  him  flashed  across  my 
mind  when  I  was  talking  about  this  Gerald  Hamilton. 
A  man  like  Theodore  Bevan  can,  on  the  whole,  do 
much  more  harm  to  a  young  woman  than  Gerald 
Hamilton.  At  least  you  know  where  you  are  treading 

103 


The  Fowler 

with  a  disreputable  fellow  like  that,  for  he  really  carries 
his  own  danger-signals  with  him;  but  a  man  of  Theo- 
dore Bevan's  type  exercises  from  the  very  beginning  a 
subtle  influence  over  you,  and  you  cannot  ever  get  rid 
of  it  thoroughly." 

"  But  you  have  freed  yourself  entirely  from  him  now," 
her  friend  said  to  her,  as  she  drew  her  apart  from  the 
others  and  scanned  her ;  "  and  you  are  engaged  to  be 
married  to  our  Prince  of  Bookbinders." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Madge  Carson  answered,  frankly.  "  And 
happiness  has  come  to  me  like  a  revelation  since  then. 
I  feel  gloriously  happy  in  my  work,  and  in  my  engage- 
ment too.  But  an  experience  like  mine  with  Theodore 
Bevan  does  leave  its  impress.  Only  the  other  day 
before  I  left  Paris  I  was  reading  some  of  his  letters,  and 
wondering  how  on  earth  it  was  that  I  did  not  detect  the 
note  of  insincerity  and  pretentiousness.  I  came  across 
the  words,  c  As  often  as  I  leave  you  the  same  words  always 
rise  to  my  lips^  and  when  alone  I  say  them  aloud'  I  used 
to  think  he  uttered  some  kind  of  benediction  for  my 
chastening  influence,  but  I  suppose  what  he  really  said 
was,  c  Idiotic  little  fool !  '  " 

"  It  is  curious  that  you  should  mention  him  to-day," 
said  Mrs  Ellerton ;  "  for  I  heard  of  him  only  this  morn- 
ing, and  was  intending  to  speak  of  him  to  you.  A 
friend  of  mine,  Nora  Penhurst,  writes  from  the  country 
that  she  has  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  very  curious 
man  called  Theodore  Bevan,  and  that  she  sees  a  good 
deal  of  him.  I  rather  expected  her  to  be  at  the  Club 
to-day.  She  promised  to  come  if  she  could,  but  she  has 
evidently  delayed  her  return  to  town.  However,  it  can- 
not be  long  now  before  she  does  come  back  to  London, 
for  she  teaches  in  several  of  the  high  schools.  I  should 
like  you  to  know  her." 

104 


An  Afternoon  at  the  Eagle  Club 

"  I  would  like,  to  meet  her,  if  only  to  put  her  on  her 
guard  about  Theodore  Bevan,"  Madge  Carson  answered. 
"  You  know  I  made  a  vow  to  myself  at  the  time,  that 
if  ever  I  heard  of  any  woman  becoming  intimate  with 
him,  nothing  would  prevent  me  from  going  to  her,  and 
begging  her  to  save  herself  from  the  illness  of  having 
him  in  her  life.  I  should  not  mind  who  it  was,  nor 
whom  I  encountered  in  the  attempt." 

"  Nora  Penhurst  is  not  as  young  as  you  were  at  the 
time,"  her  friend  answered ;  "  but  she  is  singularly  un- 
developed in  some  ways,  in  spite  of  all  her  education 
and  training.  I  sometimes  think  this  is  her  great  charm : 
she  is  so  fresh-hearted  and  joyous,  and  sees  beautiful 
things  in  the  world  where  other  people  see  nothing. 
But  from  her  earliest  days  she  has  had  a  happy  free 
life,  and  a  splendid  old  father  as  a  friend  and  comrade, 
and  no  relations,  and  indeed  nothing  to  bother  her,  and 
no  one  to  trample  on  her.  She  has  always  been  a  brick 
to  me,  and  helped  me  over  some  difficult  bits  of  my  life. 
I  wish  I  saw  more  of  her  now,  but  I  am  always  travel- 
ling about.  She  sees  so  clearly  in  some  things,  and  goes 
straight  to  the  root  of  the  matter ;  but  in  others  she  is 
as  simple  as  a  child." 

u  Well,  I  hope  for  her  own  sake  that  she  will  never 
get  caught  in  the  net  of  that  cruel  little  fowler,"  Madge 
Carson  said,  bitterly.  "  Although  I  do  not  know  any- 
thing about  her,  except  that  she  is  your  friend,  Mrs 
Ellerton,  I  would  put  myself  to  any  indignity  if  I  could 
warn  her  of  her  danger.  Don't  forget  to  arrange  a 
meeting  for  us  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"  Oh,  there  may  be  no  need  of  a  warning,"  said  Mrs 
Ellerton. 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  know  Theodore  Bevan,"  Madge 
Carson  replied,  dreamily  ;  and  after  that  she  did  not 

105 


seem  to  care  to  speak  to  any  one.  She  slipped  away  to 
her  rooms  in  Chenies  Street  Chambers,  and  sat  down 
to  her  work.  But  she  did  not  accomplish  anything; 
and  when,  later  on  in  the  evening,  the  man  who  loved 
her  came  to  see  her,  bringing  flowers  in  one  hand,  and 
exquisite  new  designs  in  the  other,  he  found  her  listless 
and  idle. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  little  girl  ?  "  he  asked,  gently. 

"  A  shadow  on  my  soul,"  she  answered,  vaguely. 


106 


Kindred  Spirits 


CHAPTER  XV 

KINDRED    SPIRITS 

"  You  certainly  worked  wonders  during  that  afternoon 
you  spent  with  my  historian,"  said  Nurse  Isabel  the 
next  day  when  she  met  Nora  at  the  post-office.  "  After 
you  had  gone,  we  talked  of  nothing  but  you  —  not  that  I 
minded  that,  you  know.  Still,  I  merely  state  that  you 
were  our  sole  topic  of  conversation.  He  dreamed  about 
you,  too,  and  awoke  so  happy  and  refreshed  that  I 
scarcely  recognised  him.  But  here  comes  the  amusing 
part;  he  asked  for  pencil  and  paper  and  began  making 
notes  for  his  book.  He  said  you  had  made  him  feel 
that  he  must  begin  at  once." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  that,"  Nora  said,  smiling  and 
blushing. 

"But  he  began  by  putting  down  a  few  details  about 
me,  in  case  he  should  ever  write  a  novel,"  continued 
Nurse  Isabel,  quaintly,  "  and  from  all  I  can  gather,  he 
thinks  I  am  the  most  absurdly  inane  person  that  ever 
lived.  Perhaps  I  am.  But  I  am  evidently  considered 
interesting  enough  to  be  put  into  a  book,  and  that  is 
more  than  you  can  say  of  most  people.  He  showed 
me  his  remarks,  and  asked  me  if  I  could  supplement 
them.  Now  imagine  anything  as  cold-blooded  as  that ! 
He  wrote:  'Nurse  Isabel  —  ridiculously  vain  —  but 
with  some  sense  of  fun  —  dress  fastened  at  the  back 
with  twenty-four  buttons  —  at  least  nine  pairs  of  shoes 
—  and  a  nervous  headache  for  every  day  in  the  week — 
quite  unsuited  to  be  a  nurse — rather  bright  at  some 

107 


The  Fowler 

things  —  Grecian  method  of  hair  architecture  —  subject 
to  depression  which  probably  vanishes  altogether  given  a 
congenial  patient,  but  which  seldom  passes  off  if  the 
invalid  be  not  worthy  of  the  effort.'  There  were  other 
statements,  too,  and  they  ended  with  c  not  bad-hearted.' " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  angry,"  she  added,  good-naturedly. 
"But  I  am  glad  he  wrote  c  not  bad-hearted'  That  is 
why  I  told  you,  for  that  is  just  as  true  as  the  other 
things  he  has  said.  And  he  knows. 

"  Not  that  he  could  write  a  character  study  about  any 
living  person,  or  about  any  dead  one  either,  unless  the 
individual  came  out  of  a  history  book,"  continued  Nurse 
Isabel.  "  Do  you  know,  that  man  spends  hours  and 
hours  thinking  about  Queen  Elizabeth  and  Oliver  Crom- 
well and  Louis  XIV.,  and  people  of  that  description. 
Sometimes  I  say, 'What  are  you  thinking  of? '  And  he 
says,  «•  Cromwell.'  Or  perhaps  he  answers,  c  Richelieu.' 
Or  perhaps  he  will  reply,  4Gustavus  Adolphus.'  But 
yesterday  when  I  asked  him  my  usual  question,  he  did 
not  refer  to  any  historical  personage.  He  said,  1 1  am 
thinking  about  that  dear  girl,  Miss  Penhurst.  And  if 
you  are  a  brick,  Nurse  Isabel,  you  will  ask  her  to  come 
up  here  to-morrow.' '' 

Nora  blushed  again.  A  very  warm  and  tender  feeling 
came  into  her  heart. 

"  I  should  like  to  come,"  she  said,  simply. 

u  Of  course,  you  know,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  nodding 
her  head  approvingly,  "  if  I  were  anything  so  base  as 
a  human  being,  I  should  instantly  be  jealous  of  you. 
When  the  stupid  fellow  recovered  his  senses,  he  ought 
to  have  fallen  in  love  with  me,  to  make  up  for  all  the 
dull  time  I've  been  having  with  him.  Instead  of  which, 
he  goes  and  loses  his  heart  to  you.  And  I  am  left  out 
in  the  cold !  " 

1 08 


Kindred  Spirits 

"  But  you  have  never  liked  your  poor  historian,"  Nora 
said,  laughing. 

"  But  he  is  a  changed  man,"  Nurse  Isabel  answered. 
"  However,  I  bear  you  no  grudge.  Do  come  this  after- 
noon, if  you  can  spare  the  time  from  that  little  friend 
of  yours  who  likes  me  so  much.  I  met  him  this  morn- 
ing near  what  you  call  the  Nightingale  Lane,  and  he 
again  looked  as  though  he  wished  to  order  my  instant 
execution.  I  should  not  like  to  meet  him  on  a  lonely 
moor  at  night." 

u  I  think  he  has  just  an  unfortunate  manner,"  Nora 
said. 

"  Oh,  dear  no,"  answered  Nurse  Isabel.  "  It  is  not 
his  manner  only.  It  is  his  mind." 

"  He  has  a  very  strong  individuality,"  said  Nora, 
uneasily.  "  One  scarcely  seems  able  to  resist  its  influ- 
ence. At  times,  when  we  have  been  together,  and  have 
disagreed  about  everything,  and  he  has  gone  away,  I  find 
myself  thinking  his  thoughts,  not  mine.  .  .  .  But.  .  .  ." 

She  stopped  and  picked  a  flower  from  the  hedge. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  it  is  just  fancy,"  she  said,  with  forced 
brightness. 

"  I  should  certainly  hope  it  was,"  answered  her  com- 
panion. "  Imagine  a  little  worm  like  that  treading  on 
you  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  dislike  him  so  much  ?  "  asked  Nora, 
with  sudden  irritation.  "  You  know  nothing  of  him. 
You  have  scarcely  had  five  minutes'  talk  with  him." 

Nurse  Isabel  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Instinct  does  not  require  five  seconds,"  she  said. 
"  And  although  I  am  almost  a  stranger  to  you,  I  don't 
like  to  think  of  you  being  with  him.  You  have  drawn 
me  to  you,  and  I  find  I  have  a  little  fragment  of  tender- 
ness left  in  me.  I  thought  I  had  nursed  it  all  away 

109 


The  Fowler 

long  ago,  but  you  have  shown  me  that  I  was  mistaken. 
When  we  feel  like  that,  we  put  out  our  arms  to  protect. 
We  cannot  help  ourselves." 

Her  voice  was  so  unusually  gentle  that  no  one  could 
have  failed  to  detect  the  note  of  kindness  j  and  Nora  was 
touched.  She  slipped  her  arm  through  Nurse  Isabel's, 
but  she  did  not  say  another  word  about  Theodore  Bevan, 
and  the  two  companions  walked  on  together  until  they 
reached  the  church. 

"  Listen  to  my  old  father  playing  Bach's  Fugues," 
Nora  said.  "You  must  bring  Mr  Uppingham  down, 
and  we  will  have  some  music." 

"  You  can  arrange  with  him  this  afternoon,"  Nurse 
Isabel  said.  "  I  think  he  will  soon  find  himself  strong 
enough  to  do  anything  you  suggest.  And  I  am  sure  he 
would  like  to  see  your  father.  What  an  old  dear  he  is, 
Miss  Penhurst !  Ah,  here  he  comes." 

"  Ah,"  said  Roger  Penhurst  as  he  joined  the  two  girls. 
"  And  here  is  the  guardian  of  the  nation  too  !  Good- 
morning,  Nurse.  Wullie  and  I  have  been  playing  for 
such  a  long  time  on  the  organ  that  we  are  both  worn 
out.  I  suppose  you  know  something  about  medicine. 
What  would  you  prescribe  for  this  stricken  boy  ?  Pep- 
permints or  brandy  balls  ?  " 

"  Excellent  remedies,  both  of  them  !  "  laughed  Nurse 
Isabel. 

"  Go  and  get  both  of  them,  Wullie,"  the  old  man 
said,  gravely,  to  the  child,  who  went  off  delighted. 

"  And  for  myself?  "   Roger  asked. 

"  I  think  it  would  do  you  good  to  walk  home  with 
me,"  Nurse  Isabel  suggested. 

"  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  he  answered,  gallantly. 

"  It  does  not  look  as  though  I  were  wanted,"  Nora 
said,  as  she  left  them.  "  I'll  see  you  this  afternoon, 

no 


Kindred  Spirits 

Nurse  Isabel,  and  perhaps  father  will  come  and  fetch 
me." 

"  Don't  you  disappoint  my  poor  historian,"  Nurse  Isa- 
bel called  after  her.  "  He  will  have  a  relapse  if  you  fail 
him.  He  is  counting  the  hours  till  he  sees  you  again." 

Her  words  were  spoken  half-jestingly,  as  she  intended, 
but  they  were  nevertheless  true.  Brian  Uppingham  had 
brightened  up  wonderfully  since  Nora's  visit :  her  pres- 
ence, her  manner,  her  personality  had  taken  hold  of  him 
at  once.  He  had  been  waiting  for  her  —  and  her  only ; 
and  when  he  saw  her,  he  felt  that  she  brought  with  her 
"  the  palm  wine  to  soothe  a  man's  soul's  wounds  in 
winter."  It  was  a  great  balm  to  speak  of  his  loved  and 
lost  ones,  and  to  hear  kind  words  about  his  work,  which 
had  been  neglected  partly  on  account  of  his  ill-health, 
and  partly  because  his  ambitions  had  been  lying  dormant 
for  sheer  want  of  some  electric  touch.  He  was  a  man 
who  imperatively  needed  sympathy;  he  did  not  belong  to 
that  sad  company  of  detached  souls  who,  by  reason  of 
sorrow  or  circumstance,  or  character  or  loss  of  ideals,  end 
by  becoming  sufficient  unto  themselves,  and  can  do  their 
work  independently  of  outside  influence.  There  was 
nothing  of  this  about  him  :  to  be,  or  to  accomplish  any- 
thing, he  needed  all  the  help  he  could  get  from  warm 
human  intercourse,  giving  in  return  the  best  of  his  mind 
and  spirit  and  individuality.  The  loneliness  of  life  which 
had  fallen  on  him  had  been  almost  like  death  to  him  ;  but 
he  had  passed  through  the  dark  valley  of  desolation,  and 
now  heard  for  the  first  time  a  voice  which  reached  him 
with  a  message  of  comfort  and  courage  and  regeneration. 

The  next  morning  after  Nora's  visit,  he  went  to  work, 
making  notes  of  some  things  he  remembered  for  his  new 
volume  of  the  Histoiy,  and  amusing  himself  too  by  jot- 
ting down,  just  to  tease  her,  a  few  of  Nurse  Isabel's 

in 


The  Fowler 

idiosyncrasies.  Indeed  he  was  so  bright  and  seemed  so 
much  more  alive,  that,  if  Nurse  Isabel  had  allowed  him, 
he  would  have  driven  down  to  the  gate-house  and  called 
on  Nora.  But  she  suggested  he  should  wait  a  day  or  two 
more,  and  he  gave  in  when  she  promised  to  ask  Nora 
to  come  again. 

And  Nora  did  not  fail  him.  She  wished  to  see  him ; 
and  though  she  did  not  put  the  thought  in  so  many  words 
to  herself,  she  felt  that  it  was  a  relief  to  her  spirit  to  be 
with  a  nature  like  Brian's  after  a  spell  of  intimacy  with  a 
man  like  Theodore  Bevan. 

So  she  came  looking  her  best,  and  bringing  heather 
and  autumn-leaves  and  two  or  three  trailing  branches, 
and  some  bracken  which  she  had  gathered  in  the  morn- 
ing. She  decorated  his  room,  and  he  watched  her  and 
admired  her.  Then  she  sat  down  beside  him,  and  he 
pointed  triumphantly  to  his  note-book  and  a  few  loose 
sheets  of  paper. 

"  See  how  I  have  taken  your  words  to  heart,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  begun  work  again." 

His  directness,  and  the  simple  natural  welcome  he 
gave  her  as  though  to  a  friend  of  old  standing,  who  was 
interested  in  him  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  in  whom  he 
wished  to  confide  as  a  matter  of  course,  pleased  Nora 
greatly.  Here  was  another  man  who  knew  what  he 
wanted,  and  dispensed  with  formalities  and  preliminaries  : 
she  thought  of  that  long  afterwards  when  she  was  freer 
in  spirit  to  make  contrasts. 

"  How  glad  I  am  that  you  were  able  to  come,"  he  said, 
as  he  turned  over  his  papers.  "  See,  I  have  had  these 
three  letters  this  morning:  one  from  Germany,  another 
from  Sweden,  and  another  from  a  distinguished  American 
historian." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  as  she  gave  them  back  to  him, 
112 


Kindred  Spirits 

"you  have  indeed  begun  the  day  brightly,  with  words 
like  these  to  greet  you.  Surely  they  must  help  you." 

"  They  have  helped  me  to-day,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
read  them  over  many  times,  and  I  have  been  longing 
to  show  them  to  you." 

Then,  without  hesitating,  and  taking  it  for  granted 
that  she  wanted  to  hear,  he  began  speaking  about  his 
work,  and  his  new  ideas  for  the  new  volume :  the 
thoughts  came  bounding  out,  grateful,  as  it  were,  for 
being  released  from  the  lonely  prison  of  the  mind,  and, 
once  free,  they  seemed  to  gather  in  strength  and  sub- 
stance. He  spoke  a  great  deal  about  the  differentiations 
of  religious  feelings,  and  Nora  could  not  help  noticing 
the  contrast  between  the  minds  and  temperaments  of 
her  two  new  acquaintances.  This  Brian  Uppingham 
had  studied  and  analysed  the  leading  features  of  religious 
thought,  and  had  traced  the  growth  and  decline  of  this 
sect,  and  now  of  that,  and  the  historical  consequences 
of  either ;  he  had  plunged  deep  into  inquiry,  and  was  in 
fact  a  theological  and  historical  vivisector  j  and  yet,  with 
all  the  story  of  man's  strange  method  of  worshipping 
God,  and  God's  still  stranger  acquiescence  —  with  all 
this  story  at  his  fingers'  ends,  God  had  remained  in  his 
heart  and  in  his  intellect  as  an  unalterable  necessity  ; 
and  man  as  a  pilgrim  starting  ofF  on  a  journey,  and  in 
spite  of  all  deviations  for  the  moment,  keeping  to  the 
main  road  —  God. 

But  Theodore  Bevan  believed  in  no  one —  in  nothing. 
He  was  the  spirit  of  pessimism,  just  as  this  historian  was 
the  spirit  of  reasonable  optimism. 

Brian  Uppingham  dealt  with  motives  on  a  large  scale, 

and  Theodore  Bevan  kept  a  small  petty  shop  in  a  back 

slum.    That  was  the  difference  between  them.     But  .  .  . 

It  was  always  "  but  "  in  Nora's  mind  when  she  began  to 

8  1 1  •? 


The  Fowler 

criticise  Theodore  Bevan.    A  shade  passed  over  her  face, 
and  Brian  noticed  it. 

"  Ah,  I  am  boring  you,"  he  said.  "  But  it  is  your  own 
fault,  you  know.  You  roused  me  up  to  my  old  interests." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said.  "  You  are  not  boring  me.  It  is 
delightful  to  hear  you  talk.  It  was  merely  that  just  one 
irritating  thought  crossed  my  mind." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  ever  feel  irritable  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  don't  believe  it.  I  thought  that  sort  of  thing  was  left 
to  me.  Nurse  Isabel  says  I  am  not  the  Prince  of  Dark- 
ness, but  worse- — the  Prince  of  Irritability!  I  rather 
think  she  is  right.  Isn't  she  a  curious  character  ?  She  is 
a  brick,  really,  and  I  have  been  a  terrible  trial  to  her." 

"  She  was  never  intended  by  nature  to  be  a  nurse,  I 
imagine,"  Nora  said. 

"  She  says  that  she  never  wished  to  be  anything,"  he 
answered,  smiling,  "  except  a  rich  lady  at  large.  It  is 
very  curious  how  some  women  are  born  with  a  distinct 
disapproval  of  work ;  and  perverse  fate  demands  that  they 
should  be  the  very  ones  to  have  to  buckle  to." 

"  And  high-born  damsels  eat  their  hearts  away  be- 
cause they  may  not  work,"  said  Nora. 

Thus  they  drifted  on  to  the  subject  of  women  and 
their  careers.  Nora  was  delighted  to  see  how  keen  he 
was  about  everything  to  do  with  women  and  their  new 
opportunities. 

"  Horrible  old  curmudgeons,"  he  said,  speaking  of  the 
authorities  of  the  older  universities  who  refused  to  grant 
degrees  to  women,  even  though  they  suffered  them  to 
pay  their  fees  and  undergo  the  examinations.  "  And  to 
think  that  many  of  those  very  colleges  were  founded,  or 
at  least  contributed  to,  by  women  themselves." 

"  It  is  only  a  question  of  time,  and  we  shall  have  our 
degrees,"  Nora  said. 

114 


Kindred  Spirits 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  that  is  very  true.  But  I  think  it 
is  more  than  time  that  we  men  united  in  sweeping  away 
all  hindrances  for  women.  Surely  by  now  we  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  our  selfishness  and  persistence  in  arrogat- 
ing to  ourselves  all  the  things  most  worth  having  in  life : 
the  free  play  of  character,  and  the  fair  play  in  the  ordi- 
nary difficulties  of  everyday  existence,  and  the  open  field 
in  which  to  test  the  strength  and  value  of  ability  and 
ambition.  All  these  privileges  we  kept  jealously  for  our- 
selves, and  others  too  of  baser  calibre  :  the  privilege  of 
behaving  just  as  the  lower  nature  in  us  suggested,  and 
then  of  passing  on,  as  though  we  had  only  acted  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  dictates  of  our  manhood,  and  that  was 
the  end  of  the  matter,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned  ;  and 
then  the  privilege  of  judging  and  condemning  to  life- 
long social  damnation  the  women  whose  passionate  in- 
stincts had  also  run  away  with  them,  but  less  deliberately 
than  with  us.  But  that  is  all  beginning  to  get  better 
now." 

"  Ah,  you  are  on  our  side,"  she  said,  warmly. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  he  answered.  "  But  it  is  not  from 
virtue  or  unselfishness  on  my  part.  It  is  from  bringing 
up.  My  own  beautiful,  gallant  mother  influenced  me  in 
all  these  matters.  She  laid  bare  to  me  patiently  and  per- 
sistently, but  without  the  least  aggressiveness,  the  whole 
story  of  women's  sufferings  and  limitations  physical  and 
mental.  I  learnt  it  in  fragments  at  odd  moments,  dur- 
ing quiet  walks  and  talks.  I  forgot  a  good  deal  of  it  as 
a  lad,  of  course  ;  but  the  general  effect  remained  and 
never  lost  its  hold  on  me.  She  was  one  of  the  real 
pioneers  of  woman's  liberation  ;  and  she  was  so  beauti- 
ful, so  refined,  so  gallant  and  high-minded,  and  so  in- 
tensely human,  and  with  such  a  wonderful  gift  of 
sympathy  and  affection,  that  I  never  think  of  her  except 

"5 


The  Fowler 

with  a  thrill  of  love  and  admiration.     Here  is  her  dear 
face.      You  see  how  gallant  she  looked." 

Nora  looked  at  the  beautiful  little  miniature  which  he 
drew  from  a  case  on  the  table. 

"  They  say,"  he  continued,  "  that  a  woman  can  do 
anything  with  a  man,  and  I  think  it  is  true  that  she  can 
make  of  him  what  she  pleases.  That  is  why  I  believe 
that  in  all  things  that  really  matter,  the  right  bent  can  be 
given  to  men  at  the  very  onset  of  their  lives,  if  women 
and  mothers  care  enough  to  take  the  trouble,  and  if  they 
understand  how.  I  don't  say  that  I  have  turned  out 
worthy  of  her  untiring  efforts,  but  still  something  re- 
mains which  would  never  have  been  there  but  for  her." 

"  Perhaps  many  women  do  not  understand  how  to  in- 
fluence their  boys,"  Nora  said. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  I  also  think  that  they 
have  not  cared  enough.  It  has  always  been  a  matter  of 
surprise  to  me,  ever  since  I  began  to  think  on  these  sub- 
jects, how  very  little  women  have  cared  about  the  moral 
quality  of  their  influence  upon  the  minds  of  their  boys 
and  lovers  and  husbands." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  that  they  take  the  spiritual  for  granted," 
Nora  said. 

"  Ah !  and  that  is  the  mistake  they  make,  then,"  he 
answered.  "The  spiritual  has  to  be  put  into  a  man, 
and  the  best  person  to  do  it  is  a  woman." 

"  You  believe  in  women,"  Nora  said,  smiling.  "  It 
is  a  pleasure  to  be  with  a  man  who  thinks  us  capable  of 
the  very  best  in  life." 

"  But  I  shall  always  think  that  you  have  been  extraor- 
dinarily indifferent  to  your  limitations,"  he  said.  "  If 
you  all  had  cared  more,  you  would  not  have  endured 
such  a  long  and  unjust  servitude.  Ages  ago  you  would 
have  broken  down  the  barriers,  and  gone  free." 

116 


Kindred  Spirits 

"  But  you  know  yourself  how  each  one  of  us,  men  and 
women  alike,  is  chained  down  by  custom  and  tradition," 
Nora  said.  u  It  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  win  freedom, 
even  in  petty  concerns ;  and  far  greater,  therefore,  must 
the  difficulty  be  when  we  are  dealing  with  serious  impor- 
tances. And  I  do  not  think  that  any  man,  however 
sympathetic  and  broad-minded,  can  ever  realise  how 
heavy  the  fetters  of  prejudice  have  been  for  women.  I 
don't  suppose  we  young  women  of  the  present  day  realise 
this.  I  am  sure  I,  for  one,  have  never  even  tried  to 
imagine  what  life  was  for  women  when  they  were  not 
allowed  to  do  all  the  things  which  they  do  now  as  a  matter 
of  course.  We  have  already  begun,  you  see,  to  take  our 
newly-won  privileges  in  the  same  way  as  we  all  accept, 
without  much  notice  or  comment,  the  rising  and  setting 
of  the  sun." 

"  But  after  all,  that  is  the  greatest  tribute  to  those  who 
worked  for  you,"  he  said.  "  It  means  that  the  impossi- 
ble has  become  the  possible  —  the  commonplace  of  every- 
day life.  And,"  he  added,  "  those  who  lead  the  way  do 
not  expect  gratitude.  It  is  enough  for  them  to  have  led 
the  way." 

"  I  think  we  have  a  tremendous  number  of  things  to 
talk  to  each  other  about,"  Nora  said,  spontaneously. 

" 1  am  quite  sure  of  it,"  Brian  answered ;  and  his  face 
lit  up  with  happiness,  and  a  tender  soft  light  came  into 
his  eyes.  • 

"  There  is  Nurse  Isabel  waving  to  us,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  the  window.  "  She  has  had  tea  laid  under  the 
cedar-trees.  Shall  we  come  ?  " 


117 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THEODORE  BEVAN  INTRUDES 

"  THAT  is  a  man  after  my  own  heart,"  Nora  said,  as 
she  left  Brian  Uppingham,  u  and  with  a  way  of  looking 
at  life  which  I  appreciate  with  every  fibre  of  my  soul. 

"  Heart  and  brains  in  perfect  accord,"  she  said. 

"  And  a  man  who  has  kept  the  whiteness  of  his  soul," 
she  said. 

"  A  dear,  dear  fellow  !  "  she  said,  with  great  tenderness. 

"  And  I  know  his  heart  has  gone  out  to  me,"  she  said, 
softly.  "  I  felt  it  come." 

She  stopped  on  the  moor  which  she  was  crossing. 

tl  But  why  do  I  not  feel  more  glad  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Two  months  ago  I  should  have  — " 

The  thought  broke  off,  interrupted  by  the  remembrance 
of  Theodore  Bevan. 

"  Ah ! "  she  said,  irritated  with  herself  and  him. 
"  Why  does  he  always  force  himself  upon  me  ? " 

So  often  she  found  her  mind  wandering  off  to  Theodore 
Bevan  —  not  from  any  eagerness  to  reach  him,  but  from 
sheer  inability  to  keep  away.  It  was  not  merely  that 
she  could  not  banish  him  from  her  thoughts,  but  that, 
against  her  own  inclination,  she  was  obliged  to  take  an 
interest  in  him,  which  was  always  intensified  when  any 
one  began  to  criticise  him.  For  the  very  life  of  her,  she 
could  not  help  being  sorry  for  him.  She  felt  that  he 
was  a  detached  soul,  and  embittered  by  bereftness  and 
unloveliness  of  surroundings  and  influences.  When  she 
thought  of  her  own  happy  childhood,  girlhood,  and 

118 


Theodore  Bevan  Intrudes 

womanhood,  made  so  rich  and  warm  by  her  father's 
kindness  and  by  his  keen  appreciations  and  enthusiasms, 
which  are  the  very  glow  of  life,  she  felt  that  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  sympathise  with  one  who  had  been  com- 
pelled to  live  a  chilled  existence  — at  a  time,  too,  when 
the  cold  settles  into  the  system.  Her  father  had  loved 
her  mother  passionately ;  and  when  she  died,  giving 
birth  to  this  baby-girl,  he  added  to  his  own  tender  love 
as  much  of  a  mother's  love  as  the  gentlest  man's  heart 
can  ever  imagine.  Nora  knew  she  was  born  of  love,  and 
brought  up  in  love.  But  this  man,  this  curious  Theodore 
Bevan,  had  been  born,  so  he  told  her,  of  indifference. 
How  could  any  one  help  being  sorry  for  his  bad  luck  ? 
And  then  his  small  stature,  and  indeed  his  whole  appear- 
ance, appealed  to  her  womanly  sympathy ;  and  she  always 
noticed  that  he  was  painfully  conscious  of  his  physical 
shortcomings.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  absolutely 
satisfied  with  his  physique,  and  would  not  have  changed 
with  any  one.  But  Nora  did  not  know  that.  So  she 
was  very  much  touched  when  he  said  to  her  one  day : 

"  The  binding  of  the  book  is  not  beautiful.  It  is  not 
tree-calf." 

She  had  remembered  this  specially,  because  she  had 
told  him  that  her  favourite  binding  was  tree-calf. 

But,  putting  aside  everything  else,  she  could  not  for- 
get that  he  said  she  was  influencing  him,  and  that  each 
time  he  came  to  her,  part  of  the  soreness  of  his  soul  was 
healed.  That  alone  would  be  quite  enough  to  attract  a 
woman,  in  spite  of  herself,  to  any  kind  of  man.  He  had 
told  her  too  that  each  time  he  left  her,  the  same  words 
rose  to  his  lips,  and  he  spoke  them  aloud  when  he  was 
alone  :  she  knew  of  course  that  they  were  some  words 
expressive  of  gratitude,  but  she  often  wondered  what  they 
exactly  were.  She  would  have  been  glad  to  know.  And 

119 


The  Fowler 

now  on  this  very  afternoon,  when  she  would  fain  have 
put  him  from  her  mind  and  dwelt  only  on  that  gentle 
fellow,  the  historian,  she  still  went  on  wondering  what 
those  words  really  were.  So,  torn  by  many  conflicting 
thoughts,  she  opened  the  door  of  her  lodgings.  There 
was  no  light  in  the  sitting-room,  and  the  fire  was  low, 
but  she  smelt  the  fragrance  of  a  cigar,  and  discovered 
her  father  in  the  arm-chair. 

"  Why,  father,  how  delightful  ! "  she  said,  lovingly. 
"  I  was  coming  to  the  King's  Head  to  tell  you  all  about 
Mr.  Uppingham.  But  as  you  are  here,  we  can  have  a 
cosy  evening  to  ourselves  alone.  We  have  not  been 
alone  for  a  long  time." 

At  that  moment  she  looked  up,  and  saw  Theodore 
Bevan  too.  He  was  sitting  in  the  recess  of  the  window. 

"  Then  we  are  not  alone  after  all,"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  which  betrayed  distinct  disappointment.  Her 
father  was  rather  surprised  at  her  want  of  courtesy,  but 
secretly  pleased,  for  he  and  Theodore  Bevan  had  been 
sitting  each  other  out  in  the  hopes  of  her  return,  and  he 
was  feeling  annoyed  at  the  little  man's  continued  intrusion. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  cheerily,  "  Mr.  Bevan  and  I  have 
been  waiting  a  long  time  for  you  :  Mr.  Bevan  longer 
than  I,  for  I  found  him  here.  I  came  to  ask  you  to 
have  supper  with  me  at  the  King's  Head,  and  to  chase 
away  a  sort  of  melancholy  which  has  laid  siege  to 
me,  born  of  airy  nothing,  and  yet  very  substantial." 

"  I'll  soon  dispel  it,"  she  said,  as  she  bent  over  him. 
And  then  she  lit  the  lamp  and  turned  to  Theodore 
Bevan,  who  had  now  risen  from  the  window-seat,  and 
stood  holding  a  book  in  his  hand.  He  looked  singularly 
pale  and  suffering,  a  little  shred  of  poor  humanity. 
Nora  was  touched  at  once,  and  regretted  her  impatient 
words. 

120 


Theodore  Bevan  Intrudes 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  first  edition  of  this  poet's  latest 
volume,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  heard  you  say  that  you 
coveted  first  editions.  I  have  the  same  taste  myself." 

Nora  took  the  book  from  him.  It  was  a  collection 
of  poems  by  a  new  minor  poet. 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  to  have  this,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
been  reading  the  review.  How  good  of  you  to  think 
of  me  !  " 

She  turned  by  instinct  to  the  fly-leaf.  On  it  were 
written  the  words,  "  Nora  Penhurst :  from  her  friend." 

She  placed  it  on  her  desk,  and  stood  hesitating  a 
moment,  as  though  she  wished  to  say  something.  But 
she  changed  her  mind,  told  her  father  that  she  wanted  to 
put  on  a  warmer  dress,  and  that  she  would  be  down 
in  five  minutes,  and  said  "  good  night  "  to  Theodore 
Bevan. 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  he  replied,  settling  down  deliber- 
ately in  a  chair.  "  I  can  wait  too,  and  we  can  all  three 
go  together." 

When  she  came  back  again,  she  found  the  two  men 
waiting  in  absolute  silence;  and  in  silence  she  and  they 
passed  on  their  way  to  the  King's  Head.  Arrived  there, 
Roger  Penhurst  and  Nora  went  straight  to  his  room.  He 
closed  the  door  and  threw  his  felt  hat  impatiently  on  the 
sofa,  where  it  landed  in  the  midst  of  his  books  and  music 
and  fiddlestrings. 

u  Confounded  little  limpet !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Thank 
goodness,  I  am  free  of  him  at  last.  I  wonder  he  did 
not  suggest  spending  the  whole  evening  with  us." 

"  He  is  not  very  tactful  sometimes,"  Nora  said,  taking 
off  her  hat. 

"  Tact,  indeed  !  "  Roger  Penhurst  replied.  "  It  is 
not  a  question  of  tact.  It  is  a  question  of  damned 
obstinacy." 

121 


The  Fowler 

At  that  moment  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  came  in  to  lay  the 
cloth.  She  was  in  the  best  of  spirits.  She  had  done  a 
splendid  day's  trade,  and  had  filled  Mr  William  Parring- 
ton  with  envy  and  wonder,  and  everything  had  gone 
swimmingly.  Even  the  ancestors  had  only  grumbled 
enough  to  keep  them  in  health.  She  served  an  excellent 
supper,  and  was  disappointed  when  she  found  that  Roger 
Penhurst  had  scarcely  touched  his  food. 

"  I'm  afear'd  you're  ill,"  she  said.  She  was  very  kind 
to  him. 

"  Oh  no,  Mrs  Mary,"  he  said,  trying  to  smile ;  "  not 
ill,  only  rather  melancholy.  If  I  wore  an  apron,  you 
know,  I  should  be  covering  my  face  with  it." 

Mrs  Shaw  nodded  sympathetically,  cleared  the  table 
quickly,  and  disappeared. 

"  It  is  all  along  of  Miss  Nora  keeping  company  with 
the  little  viper  gentleman,"  she  confided  to  Parrington. 

When  they  were  alone,  Nora  drew  her  chair  close  to 
her  father  by  the  fire,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  You  are  not  quite  happy,  father  dear,"  she  said, 
kindly. 

"  I'm  out  of  tune,"  he  answered,  looking  straight  into 
the  fire  —  "quite  out  of  tune.  I  have  spent  most  of  the 
afternoon  thinking  about  all  the  mistakes  I  have  made 
in  life;  and  that  is  not  an  exhilarating  occupation. 
Still,  it  keeps  one  busy.  For  when  you  have  lived 
through  a  long  life,  you  have  a  long  list." 

"  Even  when  one  has  only  lived  a  short  time,  one  has 
a  long  enough  list,  I  think,"  said  Nora. 

"  Probably,"  said  her  father,  "  but  one  does  not  look 
at  it  then ;  one  is  engaged  the  whole  time  in  adding  to  it. 
At  least,  that  was  my  experience.  But  when  at  last  a 
poor  devil  does  examine  it,  he  may  well  feel  down- 
hearted, if  he  is  in  the  mood  to  be  miserable.  And  that 

122 


Theodore  Bevan  Intrudes 

has  been  my  mood  to-day.  I  have  been  mourning  over 
my  failures  and  disallusions,  and  finding  out  that  old  age 
is  rather  a  sorrowful  time  of  life,  though  I  have  tried  to 
pretend  so  long  that  it  isn't.  It  is  wonderful  how  well 
we  can  pretend,  and  how  continuously,  without  losing 
any  pleasure  or  patience  in  the  game :  just  as  children 
weaving  fancies  for  themselves,  and  fashioning  a  fairy 
land  out  of  nothing,  and  not  tiring  easily  of  their  many 
make-believings.  But  they  tire  at  last  —  and  so  do  we." 

"Why,  father,"  Nora  said,  fondling  his  white  curls, 
"this  is  not  the  language  one  hears  usually  from  you. 
You  have  taught  me  to  believe  that  life  has  much  to 
offer,  even  to  the  very  end,  if  we  only  care  enough ;  and 
that  we  are  fools  not  to  care,  robbing  ourselves  in  fact  of 
treasures  lying  ready  for  us  to  take  without  stint." 

"  Is  that  what  I've  taught  you,  child  ? "  he  said. 
"  Well,  I'm  glad.  Don't  take  any  notice  of  what  I 
say ;  it  is  just  that  I  am  a  little  overshadowed." 

"  I  think  I  have  been  leaving  you  too  much  alone," 
she  said,  full  of  sudden  regret. 

"  Perhaps  that  has  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  he 
answered,  half  to  himself.  "  And  I  am  tired  of  being 
here.  I  am  beginning  to  long  for  home."  Then  he 
added,  more  cheerfully  : 

"  I  have  not  taken  much  interest  in  anything  the  last 
day  or  two.  I  have  not  even  cared  to  measure  any  one's 
head  !  There  was  a  commercial  traveller  here  yesterday 
with  a  most  attractive  headpiece,  and  I  did  not  concern 
myself  about  it  in  the  least." 

"  Then  you  must  indeed  be  feeling  out  of  spirits," 
Nora  said,  smiling,  for  they  had  always  had  a  great  deal 
of  fun  together  over  his  irresistible  desire  to  measure 
heads  and  feel  bumps. 

"  I,  too,  am  tired  of  being  here,  father,"  she  added. 
123 


The  Fowler 

"  We  will  go  home.  In  any  case,  I  should  have  to  re- 
turn to  London  before  long,  as  my  teaching  will  soon 
begin.  But  we  will  go  away  whenever  you  like  —  to- 
morrow if  you  choose." 

"  We  must  wait  for  Great-uncle's  birthday  party," 
Roger  said.  "  I  have  promised  to  play  something  on 
that  august  occasion." 

"  And  I  think  you  ought  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  historian,"  Nora  said.  "  I  feel  sure  you  would  get 
on  with  him." 

"  If  he  is  anything  like  your  little  centipede,  my  dear," 
Roger  replied,  u  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  see  him. 
It  is  not  often  that  I  dislike  a  friend  of  yours.  But  we 
do  not  seem  to  agree  about  Mr  Bevan." 

Nora  was  silent. 

"  And  that  reminds  me,"  he  said,  "  he  gave  you  a  book 
to-night.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  not  accept  anything 
from  him.  I  never  have  believed  in  gifts :  they  are  dan- 
gerous weapons,  unless  you  are  absolutely  sure  of  the 
people  who  wield  them.  That  was  the  only  piece  of 
wisdom  I  ever  learnt  from  my  father,  and  I  pass  it  on  to 
you,  my  dear.  It  is  the  only  piece  you  will  ever  get 
from  me." 

" 1  won't  forget  it,"  Nora  said,  looking  intently  into 
the  fire.  "  I  am  sure  you  are  right,  father." 

Then,  after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  she  added : 

"  Brian  Uppingham  is  not  at  all  like  Mr  Bevan." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  him,"  Roger 
Penhurst  answered,  genially.  "  We  will  wait  a  day  or 
two  longer,  and  after  that  we  will  go  home  to  dear  old 
London." 


124 


Nurse  Isabel  Delivers  a  Message 


CHAPTER    XVII 

NURSE    ISABEL    DELIVERS    A    MESSAGE 

NURSE  ISABEL  came   into  her  patient's  room  holding  a 
letter  in  her  hand. 

"  I  have  just  heard  from  Dr  Morgan,"  she  said, 
tc  and  he  asks  me  to  come  to  town  on  Friday,  as  he  has 
a  very  important  case  which  he  desires  to  entrust  to  my 
care,  and  my  care  only.  You  see  how  much  the  doctors 
think  of  me." 

"  Wait  until  the  doctors  become  the  patients  them- 
selves," Brian  Uppingham  replied.  "  Then  they  will 
sing  another  song  :  probably  in  the  minor  key." 

"  Well,  this  particular  patient  does  happen  to  be  a 
doctor,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  with  perfect  good  nature  — 
"a  distinguished  consulting  physician,  a  specialist  on 
diseases  of  the  nervous  system,  probably  a  rival  to  Dr 
Morgan  himself,  though  I  believe  the  medical  name  for 
a  rival  is  l  colleague.' ': 

"  My  word,  you  will  have  to  be  careful,  Nurse 
Isabel,"  said  Brian,  gravely.  "  No  nervous  headaches 
lasting  the  whole  afternoon ;  no  prolonged  fits  of  de- 
pression, but  a  perpetually  sweet  and  soothing  manner, 
indicative  of  a  lovely  spirit  which  has  reached  perfection 
through  suffering.  How  on  earth  will  you  manage  ?  " 

Nurse  Isabel  looked  at  him  and  they  both  laughed 
heartily,  for  she  enjoyed  a  joke,  even  at  her  own  ex- 
pense, and  his  criticisms  of  her  were  always  tempered 
by  a  certain  under-current  of  kindly  fun  quite  character- 
istic of  himself. 

12S 


The  Fowler 

"  Oh,  I  shall  manage  all  right  if  the  case  is  a  short 
one,"  she  answered.  "  But  if  it  is  long,  Heaven  help  me  ! 
He  has  broken  down  from  overwork,  so  his  '  colleague ' 
writes,  and  he  has  a  delusion  that  he  is  being  pursued  by 
the  devil.  I  expect  we  shall  soon  drive  away  the  devil 
with  milk  and  massage,  and  our  eminent  specialist  will 
take  his  place  once  more  in  his  consulting-room,  and 
speak  very  severely  to  his  patients  on  the  subject  of  self- 
control,  and  mental  balance,  and  a  calm  spirit  in  this 
distracting  age.  Bah !  how  I  do  hate  the  word  self- 
control.  Self-controlled  people  are  generally  a  sort  of 
cross  between  an  oyster  and  an  elephant." 

"  Am  I  a  cross  between  an  oyster  and  an  elephant  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Goodness,  no !  "  she  said.  "  You  are  not  self- 
controlled.  You  are,  as  I  said,  the  Prince  of  Irritability, 
or  at  least  you  were.  You  have  changed  so  much 
lately.  Quite  improved  !  I  shall  be  almost  sorry  to 
leave  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered.  "  But  must  you  really 
go?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  But  Dr  Morgan  writes  that  if 
you  are  not  well  enough  to  be  left,  he  can  send  another 
nurse,  a  Miss  Kathleen  Foster.  He  recommends  her 
highly,  but  I  don't  think  anything  of  her,  and,  between 
you  and  me,  doctors  are  no  judges!  She  stamps  about 
like  a  hippopotamus,  talks  broad  Scotch,  and  insists  on 
reading  aloud  long-winded  commentaries  on  the  New 
Testament.  She  is  far  more  trying  than  I  am.  Take 
my  advice,  and  don't  have  her.  You  are  much  better, 
and  I  don't  think  you  want  any  more  nursing.  Go  to 
the  King's  Head  after  I  leave  you,  and  get  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw  to  take  a  motherly  interest  in  you.  If  I  were  you, 
I  should  stay  on  there  for  three  or  four  more  weeks. 

126 


Nurse  Isabel  Delivers  a  Message 

Make  up  your  mind  to  eat  properly  and  regularly,  and 
do  not  work  yourself  into  a  fever  over  your  stupid  His- 
tory, and  when  you  return  to  London,  see  as  much  as 
you  can  of  Miss  Penhurst.  She  is  going  back  in  a  few 
days." 

"  I'll  take  your  advice,  Nurse  Isabel,"  he  said.  "  It 
is  a  sensible  prescription." 

"  And  talking  of  her  reminds  me  that  I  have  received 
another  letter,"  she  said.  "  It  is  from  my  Captain  in 
the  Hussars,  enclosing  several  valuable  stamps.  You 
know  I  have  spoken  to  you  about  that  wretched  little 
man  who  visits  Miss  Penhurst  at  the  Castle.  Now 
listen  to  this  part  of  my  letter :  1 1  am  so  glad  to  hear 
you  are  not  having  quite  such  a  deadly  time  of  it,  little 
Nursie,  and  that  the  distinguished  historian  is  beginning 
to  show  signs  of  ordinary  intelligence,  and  is  not  boring 
you  to  distraction.  You  have  had  a  run  of  bad  luck 
lately !  I  think  I  shall  have  to  fall  ill  myself,  just  to 
set  you  on  the  right  road  again.  At  present,  though,  I 
am  in  splendid  form.  Curious  that  you  should  come 
across  Theodore  Bevan  in  that  hole  of  a  place.  From 
your  description  of  him,  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  the  little 
skunk  that  annexed  and  nearly  annihilated  my  cousin, 
Madge  Carson.  He  had  a  sort  of  mental  fascination 
for  her,  and  for  about  two  years  she  scarcely  spoke  to 
any  one  else.  I  was  awfully  fond  of  her  myself,  and  it 
was  maddening  to  see  her  so  taken  up  with  that  little 
worm.  She  changed  so,  and  seemed  to  lose  all  her 
fun.  However,  that  was  two  years  ago,  and  she  has 
recovered  herself  and  taken  to  bookbinding,  and  is  en- 
gaged to  be  married.  I  saw  her  the  other  day:  she 
has  just  returned  from  the  Continent.  If  you  have  a 
chance,  give  the  fellow  a  good  dressing,  for  my  sake,  and 
tell  him  to  send  for  me  if  he  would  like  to  be  kicked.' " 

127 


The  Fowler 

She  closed  the  letter,  and  put  it  pensively  in  her 
pocket. 

"  It  is  a  curious  thing,"  she  said,  with  an  earnestness 
unusual  in  her,  "  but  I  have  always  disliked  the  idea  of 
Miss  Penhurst  knowing  that  man." 

"  Miss  Penhurst  attracts  you  a  good  deal,"  Brian  said. 

"  I  think  I  am  not  the  only  one  whom  she  does  at- 
tract," Nurse  Isabel  said,  mischievously.  "  You  would 
not  believe  it  of  me,"  she  added,  "  but  I  have  always 
wished  to  have  a  woman  friend.  I  envy  with  all  my 
heart  the  friendship  of  two  women.  If  I  were  a  writer, 
I  believe  I  could  write  something  beautiful  about  that." 

"  You  are  a  strange  mixture,  Nurse  Isabel,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  taking  a  golden  brown  chrysan- 
themum out  of  the  vase  and  playing  with  it,  "  I  should 
write  about  friendship  and  the  wonderful  colour  it  gives 
to  life,  and  I  should  write  about  love  and  good  fellow- 
ship and  loneliness.  If  I  could  write  it,  it  would  be  a 
beautiful  book.  That  is  what  we  all  think,  I  suppose. 
Well,  well,  my  fate  in  life  is  not  to  write  books,  but  to 
nurse  the  people  whose  fate  it  is  to  write  them." 

She  went  out  of  the  room  as  she  spoke,  leaving  Brian 
thinking  about  her :  he  had  been  learning  to  understand 
her  better  lately,  and  was  constantly  coming  upon  fine 
threads  of  precious  metal  embedded  in  the  coarser  com- 
position of  her  nature.  He  realised,  as  we  all  have  to 
realise,  not  once,  but  incessantly  —  and  each  time  the 
lesson  is  a  new  one  —  that  the  fine  threads  of  precious 
metal  are  there,  waiting  for  the  miner's  pick-axe  to  dis- 
cover them.  But  the  miners  must  be  deft,  or  else  the 
treasure  will  remain  hidden  from  them.  When  Nurse 
Isabel  returned,  she  was  dressed  for  driving,  and  seemed 
in  excellent  humour. 

"  You  understand,"  she  said,  "  that  we  will  drive  first 
128 


Nurse  Isabel  Delivers  a  Message 

to  the  Castle,  and  I  will  get  out,  and  Miss  Penhurst  will 
take  my  place.  She  knows  the  country  well,  and  wants 
to  take  you  through  some  pretty  lanes.  What  a  lucky 
fellow  you  are,  and  how  good  I  am  to  you  !  I  will 
wait  in  her  rooms  until  you  return,  and  if  you  are  not 
too  tired,  we  will  all  go  to  the  King's  Head  and  pay  a 
visit  to  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  and  Mr  Penhurst ;  and  after 
that  I  will  take  your  remains  home.  Do  you  feel  equal 
to  the  programme  ?  " 

There  did  not  appear  to  be  any  doubt  about  that,  and 
in  a  few  minutes,  both  Nurse  Isabel  and  patient  were 
rumbling  along  in  the  heavy  carriage  drawn  by  the 
sleepy  horses,  and  driven  by  the  still  sleepier  coachman. 
It  was  a  delightful  afternoon,  with  a  scent  in  the  air  of 
hay  and  autumn  leaves  and  clover.  They  passed  through 
the  sweet  pine  woods  and  drank  in  that  fragrance  too, 
and  made  their  way  into  the  high-road,  turning  off  at 
length  in  the  direction  of  the  Castle.  When  they  ar- 
rived there,  they  found  Nora  and  Theodore  Bevan 
standing  in  the  road.  Nora  came  forward  to  greet 
them,  and  Brian  asked  her  to  take  a  little  drive  with 
him.  Nurse  Isabel  was  in  high  glee  at  the  meeting 
between  the  two  men,  and  did  not  know  how  to  enjoy 
the  situation  sufficiently.  Nora  would  go  off  with  Mr 
Uppingham,  and  she  and  Mr  Bevan  would  be  left 
watching  the  retreating  carriage.  That  alone  would 
be  an  admirable  snubbing  for  him ;  and  that  was  not 
all  either.  She  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and  from 
sheer  satisfaction  crackled  and  crumpled  her  Hussar's 
letter. 

Nora  meanwhile  turned  to  Theodore  Bevan  with  just 
a  little  embarrassment,  imperceptible  perhaps  to  other 
people,  but  not  to  him.  It  was  some  consolation  to 
his  annoyance. 

9  129 


The  Fowler 

"  You  will  excuse  me  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  not  left  any  choice,"  he  answered,  drawing  his 
thin  lips  together  into  a  smile  which  could  not  have 
been  called  comforting.  But  he  had  the  tact  to  shut  the 
carriage  door  for  her,  and  to  raise  his  hat  slightly  as  the 
coachman  drove  off.  Then  he  and  Nurse  Isabel  were 
left. 

"  What  a  nice-looking  couple  they  are,"  Nurse  Isabel 
said,  sweetly.  "  I  am  so  glad  he  is  having  the  pleasure 
of  her  company.  He  admires  her  tremendously.  And 
I  do  not  wonder  —  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  Miss  Penhurst  with  you," 
he  said,  quietly.  "  If  you  will  allow  me  to  pass,  I  will 
wait  her  return." 

"  I  am  also  intending  to  wait  until  they  come  back," 
Nurse  Isabel  replied,  with  provoking  sweetness ;  and 
she  followed  Theodore  Bevan  over  the  drawbridge,  and 
into  Nora's  sitting-room,  where  she  installed  herself 
in  the  rocking-chair.  She  was  enjoying  herself  more 
and  more,  for  he  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  vexa- 
tion which  he  felt  in  having  to  endure  her  presence, 
and  she  was  delighted  to  have  the  power  of  annoy- 
ing him.  He  read  the  newspaper,  and  she  glanced  at 
some  magazines.  She  rocked  herself  in  the  chair,  and 
he  looked  up,  obviously  irritated  both  by  her  and  the 
movements. 

"  There  is  a  most  fascinating  article  on  bookbinding  in 
this  magazine,"  she  said,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence. 
"  Are  you  interested  in  that  subject  ? " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  answered,  going  on  reading  the 
newspaper. 

"  Here  is  a  most  lovely  design  for  a  book  cover," 
Nurse  Isabel  continued.  "  I  must  show  that  to  Madge 
Carson." 

130 


Nurse  Isabel  Delivers  a  Message 

She  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye,  and 
saw  that  he  had  put  down  his  paper. 

"  Madge  Carson,"  he  said,  uneasily. 

"  I  have  heard  from  her  cousin,  Captain  Lester,  that 
she  has  just  returned  from  the  Continent,"  Nurse  Isabel 
went  on,  without  heeding  his  exclamation.  "  I  shall  be 
seeing  her  in  town  soon.  Have  you  any  message  for 
her  ?  " 

"  Madge  Carson,"  he  repeated  ;  "  the  name  is  familiar 
to  me :  the  circumstances  I  forget." 

"  She  probably  does  not  forget  the  circumstances," 
said  Nurse  Isabel,  amiably,  "  nor  does  her  cousin.  In 
fact,  he  sends  a  message  to  you,  which  I  am  very  re- 
luctant to  deliver.  But  I  always  do  deliver  messages 
on  principle.  I  trust  you  will  sympathise  with  the 
difficulty  of  my  position.  Captain  Lester  desires  me  — 
well,  he  desires  me  —  to  say  that  if  you  would  like  to  be 
kicked,  he  will  have  great  pleasure  in  coming  to  do  so 
at  once." 

Theodore  Bevan  turned  to  her,  white  with  passion. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  like  that  ?  I  beg  of  you 
to  leave  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  take  your  dismissal  of  me  from 
Miss  Penhurst's  room  as  authoritative,"  replied  Nurse 
Isabel,  now  well  warmed  up  to  her  role.  "  If  you  are 
annoyed  by  my  presence  here,  I  would  suggest  that  you 
remove  yourself.  Personally  speaking,  I  would  just  as 
soon  have  you  in  this  room  as  not ;  so  that  I  am  not  the 
objecting  party." 

She  was  enjoying  herself  so  much  that  she  conducted 
herself  with  admirable  self-control. 

"But  if  you  decide  to  go,"  she  continued,  "  please  tell 
me,  before  you  leave,  what  message  you  would  like  me 
to  take  to  Miss  Margaret  Carson.  This  will  be  your 


last  chance  of  telling  me,  because  I  am  going  to  London 
to-morrow ;  and  you  have  learnt  that  I  can  deliver 
messages,  and  that  I  am  therefore  to  be  trusted.  Shall 
I  tell  her  that  you  are  in  excellent  health  and  having 
splendid  sport  down  here,  and  that  you  are  trying  to 
annex  and  annihilate  another  girl,  probably  just  in  the 
same  way  as  you  did  her  ;  and  that  you  think  you  are 
getting  on  pretty  well,  but  that  you  have  unexpected 
reverses  of  fortune,  as  for  instance,  when  suddenly,  with- 
out any  warning,  she  goes  driving  with  another  man, 
whom  she  admires  greatly  and  who  admires  her  still 
more ;  and  leaves  you  cutting  a  very  ridiculous  figure  in 
the  road  ?  That  is  all  I  can  think  of  at  present,  but  no 
doubt  you  can  add  to  it  for  me." 

He  bit  his  lips  as  he  stood  before  her  trembling  from 
rage,  and  scarcely  able  to  restrain  himself.  A  most 
devilish  expression  of  cruelty  was  on  his  face:  Nurse 
Isabel  herself  was  startled,  though  she  did  not  betray  the 
slightest  sign  of  concern.  He  raised  his  arm,  as 
though  to  strike,  but  he  let  it  fall  at  once,  and  seized  his 
hat. 

"  I  will  rid  myself  of  you  and  your  impertinence," 
he  said  slowly.  "  You  can  tell  Miss  Carson  what  you 
choose :  it  is  of  no  matter  to  me.  But  you  may  also 
tell  her  that,  some  day,  I  will  be  even  with  you." 

He  stepped  quietly  across  the  room,  and  passed  out  in 
his  usual  noiseless  fashion. 

"  Like  a  burglar,"  thought  Nurse  Isabel,  who  remained 
in  solitary  glory  and  triumph,  gloating  over  the  experi- 
ence, and  only  regretting  that  it  had  not  lasted  longer. 

Meanwhile  Nora  and  Brian  were  taking  their  drive 
together.  Everything  delighted  him  :  the  hedges  with 
all  their  many  treasures,  the  bracken,  golden  brown  and 
pale  yellow,  the  foxgloves  springing  up  here  and  there, 

132 


Nurse  Isabel  Delivers  a  Message 

the  fields  with  the  harvesters  hard  at  work,  and  the  hay- 
stacks of  last  year,  looking  thoroughly  sturdy  and  com- 
fortable ;  the  sheep  grazing  on  the  slopes  yonder,  and 
the  cows  coming  down  the  lane  following  a  scrap  of  a 
boy,  a  "  farthing's  worth  of  humanity,"  as  Brian  called 
him.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  lighting  up  the  autumn- 
tinted  trees,  rejoicing  the  hearts  of  the  birds,  and  cast- 
ing a  golden  lustre  on  the  hay-laden  waggons  passing 
leisurely  along  the  road.  Nothing  escaped  Brian's 
notice ;  everything  ministered  to  his  pleasure ;  the  dogs, 
Smoker  and  Carlo,  bounding  joyously  in  front,  the  fra- 
grance of  a  clover  field,  the  children  strolling  home  from 
school,  the  music  of  the  nightingales  in  a  dark  deep 
lane  pointed  out  by  Nora  as  her  favourite  walk.  He, 
too,  knew  how  to  enjoy,  and  after  a  long  spell  of  listless 
indifference  was  making  once  more  a  thankful  use  of 
his  birthright.  He  told  Nora  this,  and  she  saw  it  for 
herself.  He  would  fain  have  gone  on  mile  after  mile, 
and  she  too;  but  there  was  the  other  part  of  Nurse 
Isabel's  programme  to  be  considered,  and  so  they  turned 
homeward  and  arrived  at  the  Castle,  where  they  found 
her  in  a  state  of  radiant  exultation.  They  told  her  how 
much  they  had  enjoyed  themselves,  and  indeed  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  happiness  written  large  on  their 
faces.  But  Nurse  Isabel  said  that  she  had  enjoyed 
herself  far  more  than  they,  and  that  she  felt  ten 
years  younger  for  her  delightful  interview  with  Mr 
Bevan. 

"  It  was  short,"  she  said,  "•  but  quite  unique.  What 
an  interesting  companion  he  is,  to  be  sure !  I  only  wish 
he  had  not  hurried  away  so  quickly.  However,  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  be  seeing  him  again." 

Nora  glanced  at  her  uneasily  and  half  suspected 
that  some  contretemps  had  taken  place ;  and  Brian, 

133 


The  Fowler 

who  remembered  the  Hussar's  letter,  longed  to  know 
whether  Nurse  Isabel  had  given  the  message.  But 
before  he  had  time  to  ask,  they  were  in  front  of  the 
quaint  old  King's  Head  with  its  weather-beaten  sign  of 
His  Majesty  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  there  was  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw  carrying  out  great  plates  of  food  for  the  dogs,  and 
now  coming  forward  to  greet  Nora  and  her  friends ;  and 
there  too  was  Roger  Penhurst,  smoking  a  cigar,  and 
sitting  on  the  bench  side  by  side  with  great-uncle,  who 
was  pulling  vigorously  at  his  long  clay-pipe.  Before 
very  long,  Brian  Uppingham  was  quite  at  ease  with  his 
new  friends,  feeling  that  he  knew  them  well  from  Nurse 
Isabel's  description  of  them.  He  chatted  with  Mrs. 
Mary  Shaw,  and  even  took  the  liberty  of  inquiring  after 
Mr  William  Parrington,  and  he  was  invited  to  great- 
uncle's  birthday  party  which  was  coming  off  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  This  was  a  sure  sign  that  he  had  found 
favour  with  the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head.  He  at 
once  attracted  Mr  Penhurst,  who  opened  out  to  him 
without  any  preliminaries,  spoke  enthusiastically  about 
his  book,  measured  his  head,  showed  him  two  curious 
old  books  on  trees  which  he  had  lately  found  at  Langton, 
and  then,  by  request  of  every  one,  played  to  him  on  the 
violoncello,  making  the  instrument  sob  and  sing  and  vi- 
brate with  tenderness,  and  arousing  in  the  hearts  of  the 
listeners  sad  and  glad  and  peaceful  thoughts,  and  that 
strange  longing  born  always  of  beautiful  music. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Nurse  Isabel  tried  to  hurry  the 
historian  home,  for  she  was  a  little  anxious  at  seeing 
him  looking  overtired,  and  this  was  his  first  big  outing. 
He  absolutely  refused  to  be  ordered  away. 

"  Don't  you  bully  him,"  Roger  said,  shaking  his  bow 
at  her.  "He  is  enjoying  being  with  us,  and  it  will  do 
him  good." 

'34 


Nurse  Isabel  Delivers  a  Message 

So  she  gave  him  a  few  minutes'  grace,  and  at  last 
took  him  reluctantly  away. 

"  I  had  to  do  it,"  she  said,  as  they  drove  off.  "  If  I 
had  waited  any  longer,  there  would  not  have  been  even 
any  remains  for  me  to  bring  home.  Don't  be  disagree- 
able. If  you  will  leave  off  sulking,  I  will  tell  you  about 
my  interview  with  Mr  Bevan." 


135 


The  Fowler 


LATE  that  night,  when  every  one  else  at  the  King's 
Head  had  retired  to  rest,  Theodore  Bevan  made  the 
following  entry  in  his  journal : 

"  Of  course  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  how  much 
that  objectionable  woman,  Nurse  Isabel,  does  know  about 
the  Madge  Carson  episode.  I  was  greatly  astonished 
by  her  impertinent  audacity,  and  I  fear  that  my  usual 
sang-froid  deserted  me  altogether.  However,  she  shall 
not  go  unpunished.  In  the  afternoon  she  came  here 
with  Miss  Penhurst  and  Uppingham,  and  I  imagine  she 
must  have  hinted  something  about  the  affair  to  Miss 
Penhurst,  who  brought  her  out  alone  into  the  garden, 
and  at  once  asked  her  what  had  occurred  between  us. 
I  was  in  my  bedroom  at  the  time,  and  had  the  advan- 
tage of  hearing  their  conversation.  Some  of  it  was  not 
specially  flattering  to  me.  Nurse  Isabel  referred  to 
my  acquaintance  with  Madge  Carson,  and  to  Captain 
Lester's  courteous  message.  She  begged  my  Athene  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  me,  and  told  her  she  was  sure 
that  I  was  a  sort  of  vampire  who  would  suck  every 
drop  of  health  and  happiness  out  of  her.  My  Athene 
contradicted  herself  sadly  :  she  said  that  it  was  absurd 
to  suppose  that  she  would  allow  herself  to  be  influenced 
to  that  extent  by  any  one,  and  certainly  not  by  such  a 
one  as  Mr  Bevan.  I  noticed  a  slight  disparagement  in 
her  words  which  must  not  be  allowed  to  occur  again. 
And  then,  irritated  by  what  she  considered  Nurse  Isabel's 

136 


A  Page  from  a  Journal 

interference,  she  said  that  if  she  chose  to  submit  to  the 
influence  of  a  hundred  Mr  Bevans,  it  was  her  concern 
and  hers  only.  To  which  Nurse  Isabel  replied  :  c  Good 
Heavens,  one  Mr  Bevan  is  enough  in  all  conscience  !  ' 
And  they  both  laughed  at  that.  I  laughed  too.  Before 
they  went  in,  that  odious  woman  said  : 

" c  Well,  don't  have  it  against  me  that  I  interfered  with 
your  private  affairs.  I  felt  I  must  warn  you,  although  I 
knew  you  would  hate  me  for  it.' 

" '  I  don't  at  all  hate  you  for  it,'  Athene  answered  in 
a  most  friendly  manner.  4  You  have  made  me  feel  that 
you  have  a  very  kind  regard  for  me.' 

" '  I  am  glad  you  have  felt  that,'  Nurse  Isabel  an- 
swered. c  I  hope  we  shall  see  something  of  each  other 
in  London.' 

" c  Of  course  we  shall,'  my  Athene  said.  c  I  shall  give 
you  my  address,  and  look  out  for  you.' 

"  (My  Athene  must  be  protected  from  such  an  unde- 
sirable friendship.  I  shall  take  good  care  that  she  does 
not  see  much  of  Nurse  Isabel  in  London.  That  in  itself 
will  be  the  beginning  of  the  punishment,  for  the  woman 
evidently  likes  Miss  Penhurst.) 

"  As  they  passed  into  the  house  to  join  the  other 
members  of  their  coterie,  they  spoke  in  a  low  voice 
about  Mr  Brian  Uppingham.  I  did  not  catch  what  they 
said.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  what  it  is  that 
educated  people  find  to  like  in  ignorant  village  folk. 
For  me,  they  have  no  existence,  no  significance.  .  .  . 

"  Madge  Carson  back  in  England.  ...  I  think  I 
used  to  call  her  Eirene  —  my  peace.  She  must  not  be 
allowed  to  interfere  with  me  and  the  historian.  .  .  ." 

Here  Theodore  Bevan  put  down  his  pen,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  his  thoughts. 

137 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   XIX 
GREAT-UNCLE'S  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

MRS  MARY  SHAW  had  been  preparing  many  days  for 
great-uncle's  birthday  party,  which  was  to  celebrate  his 
eighty-fifth  anniversary.  Like  most  hostesses  in  any 
walk  of  life,  she  had  succeeded  in  tiring  herself  thoroughly 
beforehand,  having  taken  this  opportunity  of  doing  a 
great  many  things  which  had  not  any  bearing  on  the 
entertainment,  and  could  have  been  done  much  better 
on  another  occasion.  However,  the  ways  of  housewives 
always  were  mysterious  and  subtle ;  and  no  doubt  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw  had  her  own  reasons  for  papering  Wullie's 
little  bedroom,  and  turning  out  her  store  cupboard,  and 
making  a  fresh  supply  of  onion  pickle,  and  washing 
blankets  at  a  time  when  one  would  have  thought  she 
had  quite  a  heavy  enough  task  in  contriving  cakes  and 
pasties,  cleaning  out  the  kitchen,  polishing  her  stove, 
rubbing  up  her  brass  candlesticks  and  the  great  copper 
warming-pan  which  hung  on  the  wall  next  to  the  old 
clock,  itself  a  handsome  old  family  possession.  Visitors 
to  the  King's  Head  had  often  wanted  to  buy  that  clock, 
and  also  the  beautiful  lustre  ware  which  stood  on  the 
top  shelf  of  the  dresser,  and  was  never  allowed  to  be 
touched  by  any  one  except  Mrs  Shaw  herself. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  care  to  sell  them  old  ancestral  things  of 
the  past,"  she  always  said.  "They're  like  the  ancestors 
themselves ;  they  take  up  a  deal  of  room,  and  want  a 
deal  of  rubbing  up,  but  I  like  for  them  to  be  there. 
And  no  one  can't  buy  them  from  me.  Though  what 

138 


Great-Uncle's  Birthday  Party 

Wullie  will  do  with  them  when  he's  growed  up  and 
becomes  a  wicked  spendthrift,  is  more  than  I  pretend  to 
know."  So  she  polished  the  lustre  jugs  and  quaint  old 
teapots  and  goblets,  rich  brown  with  pink  and  green 
flowers  on  them,  and  she  put  beeswax  and  turpentine 
on  the  old  clock,  and  rubbed  it  into  the  wood  until  she 
was  red  in  the  face,  and  very  nearly  having  an  apoplectic 
fit.  And  she  was  just  going  to  clean  by  the  same  method 
great-uncle's  old  fiddle,  which,  together  with  the  bacon 
and  hams,  hung  from  one  of  the  beams,  when  she  was 
luckily  prevented  by  Mr  Penhurst,  who  strolled  in  at 
the  right  moment,  rescued  the  sacred  instrument,  and, 
settling  himself  down  in  the  arm-chair,  mounted  guard 
over  it. 

"  And  here  I'll  stay,  Mrs  Mary,"  he  said,  "  until 
your  terrible  spasm  of  cleaning  is  over." 

"  And  right  welcome  you  be,"  she  said,  pretending  to 
polish  the  chair.  "  You  sit  there  nice  and  quiet,  and 
give  me  advice  about  the  vittles,  dear  Mr  Penhurst." 

Then  she  turned  her  attention  to  the  serious  question 
of  the  food,  which,  as  usual,  was  to  be  the  most  important 
item  of  the  evening's  entertainment.  Why  it  always 
should  be  so,  is  a  mystery  which  time  so  far  has  not 
elucidated.  But  perhaps  future  generations  will  learn 
why,  in  the  past,  it  was  always  considered  necessary  to 
celebrate  with  elaborately-prepared  meals  all  great  and 
solemn  and  sentimental  occasions,  including  religious 
festivals.  They  will  trace  the  custom  back  to  its  orig- 
inal barbarism,  and  rid  themselves  of  it  —  perhaps! 

Great-uncle,  being  the  hero  of  the  hour,  was  told  that 
he  might  invite  any  one  he  pleased,  and  he  settled  on 
his  old  chum  the  clogger  Daniel,  who  shared  with  him 
his  preference  for  that  more  congenial  resort,  the  Miners' 
Tavern.  Great-uncle  also  asked  Nora  Penhurst,  who 


The  Fowler 

had  won  his  heart  years  ago  by  friendly  words  of  greet- 
ing and  shag.  He  said  he  didn't  care  who  else  came, 
provided  that  Great-great-aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson  was 
not  invited.  He  never  could  abide  her,  he  said  ;  besides 
which,  he  was  not  greatly  drawn  to  old  folk !  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw  had  to  take  quite  half  an  hour  away  from 
the  cooking  in  order  to  persuade  him  to  consent  to  her 
presence  ;  but  she  succeeded  at  last,  and  great-uncle  was 
reduced  to  submission  outwardly,  though  not  inwardly. 

"  Nasty  spiteful  old  creature ! "  he  was  heard  to 
murmur  several  times  during  the  day,  thus  showing 
that  the  attaining  to  one's  eighty-fifth  year  does  not 
necessarily  imply  a  safe  arrival  at  the  harbour  of  peace 
and  goodwill. 

David  the  blacksmith  was  also  asked.  Mr  William 
Parrington  asked  himself.  Miss  Shafton  the  postmistress 
was  invited  ;  but  as  it  was  known  that  she  could  not 
resist  playing  hymn-tunes  on  a  harmonium,  if  she  got 
anywhere  near  one,  Wullie  undertook  to  keep  her  away 
from  the  dangerous  instrument,  and  was  highly  delighted 
with  his  task. 

"Only  don't  you  be  a-hurting  of  her  feelings,  Wullie," 
said  Mrs.  Mary  Shaw.  "Just  you  use  tack,  or  else 
I'll  spank  you." 

Wullie  understood  what  the  word  "  tack  "  meant,  for 
he  was  always  being  told  to  use  it  in  his  dealings  with 
his  ancestors  ;  and  he  succeeded  admirably. 

Mr  Penhurst,  of  course,  was  invited,  and  had  prom- 
ised to  play  some  melodies  on  the  zither,  which  Reuben, 
Mrs  Mary  Shaw's  quiet  old  father,  greatly  loved.  The 
verger,  Thomas  Kent,  a  melancholy  individual,  who  was 
not  much  interested  in  living  people,  and  preferred  the 
company  of  the  figures  on  the  old  tombs  in  the  church 
and  on  the  quaint  brasses  on  the  pavement,  was  also  in- 

140 


Great-Uncle's  Birthday  Party 

vited.  He  accepted  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  felt 
he  was  the  only  representative  of  learning  in  the  com- 
munity, and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  be  present.  More- 
over, he  was  attached  to  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  who  alone 
dared  to  joke  with  him  ;  and  also  it  is  possible  that,  in 
his  heart  of  hearts,  he  did  like  being  amongst  human 
beings  occasionally.  He  was  considered  to  be  quite  a 
scholar,  and  it  was  an  acknowledged  fact  that  he  could 
translate  the  Latin  inscriptions  on  the  brasses.  He  did 
not  always  give  the  same  translation,  but  this  was  a 
detail  known  only  to  himself. 

The  carpenter,  Timothy  Evans,  a  "  modern  spirit,"  was 
also  bidden  to  the  entertainment.  He  was  a  genial  soul, 
and  an  ardent  admirer  of  Nora's.  He  always  said  she 
was  the  nicest  female  he  had  ever  met,  and  he  would  like 
to  leave  all  his  money  to  her.  He  had  confided  to  her 
one  or  two  of  his  pet  grievances,  and  felt  that  she  sym- 
pathised with  him.  His  chief  grievance  was  about  the 
old  pews  ia  the  church. 

"  Wormwoody  old  things,"  he  said,  contemptuously. 
"  There  they  be  a-crumbling  to  pieces,  and  here  be  I 
ready  and  able  to  make  fine  new  ones  —  and  cheap.  As 
for  the  carving,  we  can  do  better  than  that  nowadays." 

He  was  not  on  friendly  terms  with  the  verger,  whom 
he  had  often  offended  by  his  scornful  allusions  to  the  old 
pews  and  the  strange  old  pulpit,  greatly  prized  by  an- 
tiquarians. Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  however,  relied  on  being 
able  to  keep  the  peace,  and  determined  not  to  let  them 
sit  together. 

Mr  Theodore  Bevan  was  not  invited.  Nurse  Isabel 
was  invited,  but  she  had  already  returned  to  town.  But 
Brian  Uppingham,  who  had  begun  to  come  in  and  out  at 
the  King's  Head,  was  included  amongst  the  chosen,  for 
Mrs  Mary  Shaw  had  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  him,  and 

141 


The  Fowler 

said  he  reminded  her  of  that  artist  who  lodged  with  her 
last  summer,  gave  her  a  deal  of  trouble,  and  never  paid 
her  a  penny.  At  first  this  would  have  seemed  rather  a 
doubtful  compliment,  but  that  she  added  affectionately  : 
"  And  he  were  as  nice  a  gentleman  as  ever  I  saw, 
with  the  pleasantest  ways  about  him,  and  a  light  brown 
moustache !  " 

The  ancestors  were  rubbed  up  until  they  looked  almost 
as  bright  as  the  clock,  and  great-uncle  was  in  capital 
form,  and  said  he  intended  to  sing  a  song.  Aunt  Re- 
beccah  was  in  an  alarmingly  amiable  frame  of  mind,  and 
remained  quite  five  minutes  at  a  stretch  without  making 
any  snappy  remark.  Mrs  Shaw  put  on  her  best  cap,  a 
sweet  lace  affair  with  light  blue  ribbons  in  it.  Wullie 
pronounced  her  appearance  to  be  stunning,  and  Mr 
William  Parrington,  who  brought  her  a  bouquet  of  flowers 
destined  to  be  inconveniently  in  her  way  the  whole  even- 
ing, said  she  looked  like  a  picture. 

"  My  word,"  he  said,  approvingly, "  you  grows  to  look 
younger  and  younger  each  time  I  see  you.  There  won't 
be  no  keeping  you  back  soon.  That's  what  it  is  to  be 
happy.  It  be  the  same  with  me.  These  last  two  or 
three  months  I've  dropped  three  or  four  years  off  my 
age." 

"  I  don't  note  any  difference  in  you,"  replied  Mrs. 
Mary  Shaw.  "  Ever  since  I  knowed  you,  you  seem  to 
me  just  about  the  same  —  about  fifty  year  old,  and  a 
little  bald." 

"  Forty-seven,  and  not  at  all  bald,"  said  Parrington, 
pleadingly. 

"  Well,  we  won't  be  particular  about  a  few  hairs  on 
your  head,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  and  I  be  truly  glad  to 
think  as  you  are  so  happy  these  last  two  months,  Mr. 
Parrington.  I  expect  it's  all  along  of  business  being  so 

142 


Great-Uncle's  Birthday  Party 

brisk  at  the  Punchbowl.  It  do  make  a  deal  of  differ- 
ence. That's  how  it  is  with  me.  Business  be  so  un- 
common good  at  the  King's  Head,  that  I  may  well  be 
in  good  spirits.  And  Wullie's  behaving  so  nice.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  I  wasn't  mistook  about  him  after 
all,  and  if  he  wasn't  going  to  grow  up  a  credit  to  his 
mother.  And  the  ancestors  are  pretty  peaceful  for  the 
likes  of  them.  So  what  with  Wullie  and  the  business 
and  the  ancestors,  I  expect  I  do  feel  a  bit  comforted." 

Then  she  looked  up  at  Mr  Parrington,  and  they  both 
laughed,  and  Parrington  sat  down  in  the  inglenook  to 
make  himself  agreeable  to  Aunt  Rebeccah,  whilst  Mrs 
Shaw  came  forward  to  meet  Mr  Thomas  Kent,  the 
verger,  who  was  the  first  to  arrive. 

"  Ah,  Mr  Kent,"  she  said,  "  what  a  good  thing  you 
was  able  to  leave  them  dead  figures  for  a  little  while. 
Tombstones  is  all  very  well  in  their  way,  but  the  best 
of  us  wants  a  little  innocent  change  sometimes." 

Mr  Thomas  Kent  smiled  with  as  much  sepulchral 
appreciation  as  lay  in  his  nature,  and  said  in  his  usual 
melancholy  tone  of  voice,  as  though  he  were  translating 
a  Latin  inscription : 

"Yes,  Mrs  Alary  Shaw,  a  change  be  good  sometimes. 
I  hear  you  be  thinking  of  making  a  change.  May  Mr 
Parrington  and  you  rest  in  peace." 

"Much  obliged,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Mrs  Shaw;  and 
at  that  moment  Timothy  Evans,  the  carpenter,  arrived, 
and  seeing  the  verger  standing  by  himself,  could  not 
resist  going  up  to  him. 

"  Good  day,  Mr  Kent,"  he  said,  grimly.  "  Glad  to  see 
you  here,  sir.  I  trust  them  old  oak  seats  and  that  crazy  old 
pulpit  be  holding  out  pretty  well,  considering  all  things." 

"They'll  last  your  time,  Mr  Evans,"  replied  the 
verger,  sulkily. 

143 


The  Fowler 

"  I  should  doubt  it,"  said  the  carpenter,  winking  at 
Wullie.  "  No  one  can  say  as  how  I  be  a-crumbling 
away.  What  do  you  think,  Wullie,  my  lad  ?  " 

"  There  now,"  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  "  don't  you  be 
worrying  the  verger  in  my  house,  Mr  Evans.  You  know 
he's  that  touchy,  being  a  lone  soul,  and  not  used  to  the 
ways  of  living  folk.  You  just  go  over  yonder,  and  don't 
you  come  nigh  him  again." 

Timothy  laughed,  and  went  to  talk  with  Reuben,  who 
had  given  him  some  medicine  for  indigestion,  and  had 
made  him  considerably  worse. 

"  It  be  the  right  medicine  for  the  right  malady,  Tim- 
othy," Reuben  answered,  in  his  quiet,  obstinate  manner, 
"and  if  you  aren't  feeling  no  better,  it  be  the  fault  of 
your  body,  and  it  be  no  fault  of  mine.  I  made  the 
physic  myself  from  the  real  herb,  and  it  be  not  a  sham 
drug  such  as  folk  buys  in  a  shop.  It  be  the  right  medi- 
cine for  your  complaint,  Timothy." 

David  the  blacksmith  soon  put  in  his  appearance,  and 
at  once  began  teasing  the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head. 
He  was  a  privileged  person,  and  might  say  and  do  what- 
ever he  liked,  and  every  one  was  satisfied.  Every  one 
loved  David :  he  was  David  to  one  and  all,  to  the  old 
and  the  young,  and  even  to  the  little  babies,  who  soon 
learnt  to  lisp  his  name.  He  called  himself  "  the  village 
nurse,"  and  the  children  played  in  front  of  his  workshop. 
They  listened  to  the  sound  of  his  anvil;  they  watched 
the  sparks  flying ;  they  crowded  round  him  when  he  was 
shoeing  the  horses ;  they  teased  Ship,  his  faithful  collie ; 
they  confided  to -him  their  griefs  at  school  and  at  home, 
and  all  their  bits  of  fun  and  mischief.  He  was  full  of 
mischief  himself,  and  loved  it  in  other  people;  and  when 
he  caught  sight  of  Parrington  to-day,  he  said  : 

"  What,  Mr  Parrington  here  !     Why,  I  did  think  as 
144 


Great- Uncle's  Birthday  Party 

how  he'd  been  sent  to  the  right-about  long  ago.  Glad 
to  see  you've  took  him  back  again,  Mrs  Mary  !  My 
word,  how  that  ring  do  suit  your  iinger !  Let's  have 
another  look  at  it  —  a  remarkable  pretty  thing." 

"  Mind  your  own  business,  Davie,"  said  Mrs  Shaw, 
laughing,  and  running  off  to  serve  the  tea,  and  adding 
a  small  quantity  of  rum  to  each  cup,  the  unalterable 
code  of  etiquette  for  a  party  in  that  corner  of  England. 
Great-uncle  enjoyed  his  dose  immensely,  smacked  his 
lips,  and  asked  for  more  at  once,  and  his  old  chum, 
Daniel  the  clogger,  agreed  with  him  that  there  was 
nothing  like  a  cup  of  tea — that  kind  of  tea.  The  cakes, 
and  sausage  rolls,  and  biscuits,  and  "  fat  rascals,"  met 
with  general  approval,  and  as  David  said,  it  was  "  not 
for  nothing  "  that  Mrs  Shaw  had  been  cook  to  a  gentle- 
men's club  in  London  for  over  four  years. 

u  Parrington,"  he  said,  "  you  be  a  lucky  man.  She  do 
prepare  a  wonderful  good  dinner.  And  that  be  only  one  of 
her  qualities.  I  believe,  if  she  was  to  try,  she  could  shoe  a 
horse  as  well  as  me.  And  that's  saying  a  good  deal." 

Every  one  echoed  this  sentiment,  and  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw  hid  her  face  behind  Parrington's  bouquet,  which 
Wullie  had  been  picking  up  patiently  and  bringing  from 
different  quarters  of  the  room.  Then,  when  the  impor- 
tant rite  of  drinking  tea  with  rum  in  it,  and  of  eating  up 
a  very  fair  portion  of  the  generous  supply  of  food  had 
been  gone  through  with  dogged  persistence,  great-uncle 
said  he  would  like  to  sing  a  song,  a  suggestion  which 
was  seconded  by  the  whole  company,  excepting  Great- 
great-aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson,  who  said  he  was  not 
to  be  such  a  goose. 

"  Goose  yourself !  "  he  answered,  rebelliously,  and  he 
stood  up,  holding  himself  erect  as  though  waiting  to  be 
shot,  and  began  to  give  utterance  to  a  succession  of 
10  145 


The  Fowler 

sounds  which  might  well  have  been  a  mixture  of  Chinese 
and  North  American  Indian  music,  with  perhaps  a 
slight  dash  of  Hungarian.  No  one  knew  what  he  was 
singing  about,  nor  whether  the  language  he  had  chosen 
for  giving  expression  to  his  feelings  was  French,  German, 
Italian,  or  English.  But,  as  Mr  Penhurst  whispered 
to  Nora,  he  was  merely  following  the  example  of  the 
most  distinguished  warblers  in  the  drawing-room  or 
concert-hall,  who  always  preferred  to  keep  their  audi- 
ences in  complete  ignorance  of  what  they  were  singing. 
Great-uncle  sat  down  amidst  warm  applause,  and  a 
series  of  grunts  from  Aunt  Rebeccah.  He  was  quite 
overcome  by  his  own  private  emotions,  and  murmured 
something  about  childhood's  dreams,  from  which  the  com- 
pany gathered  that  he  had  probably  been  singing  them  a 
song  about  youth.  Then  Mr  Penhurst,  urged  by  Reu- 
ben, took  his  zither  out  of  its  case,  and  arranged  it 
on  a  small  square  table  in  the  centre  of  the  kitchen. 
Reuben  crept  close  to  him,  and  bent  over  him  eagerly,  his 
whole  being  intent  and  satisfied.  It  was  a  picturesque 
scene  :  Brian  Uppingham,  who  was  sitting  near  Nora, 
looked  around  and  noted  every  detail :  the  quaint  old 
kitchen,  the  great  oaken  beams  hung  with  bacon  and  a 
fiddle ;  the  crockery  and  lustre  ware  on  the  fine  old 
dresser  ;  two  comfortable  cats,  a  black  one  and  a  sandy 
fellow,  staring  into  the  glowing  fire ;  the  cosy  inglenook, 
where  Great-great-aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson,  and  great- 
uncle,  and  Daniel  the  clogger  were  taking  their  ease, 
their  rugged  faces  turned  expectantly  toward  the  player ; 
whilst  Mr  Thomas  Kent,  the  verger,  was  installed  in  an 
easy-chair  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  carpenter, 
and  guarded  from  all  harm  by  Mr  Parrington  on  one 
side  and  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  on  the  other,  who  seemed 
radiant  with  self-satisfaction  and  triumph.  The  black- 

146 


Great-Uncle's  Birthday  Party 

smith  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  his  dog,  Ship,  lay  at 
his  feet.  Wullie  crouched  near  the  harmonium,  which 
he  was  prepared  to  defend  against  all  odds.  Miss  Shaf- 
ton  herself  was  imprisoned  in  the  inglenook.  Nora's 
dear  old  father,  in  the  midst  of  these  simple  villagers, 
touching  the  strings  of  his  zither  for  their  pleasure,  com- 
pleted a  very  charming  picture. 

He  played  them  such  melodies  as  they  were  likely  to 
know:  '  Auld  Lang  Syne,'  c  Home,  Sweet  Home,' 
4  Drink  to  Me  only  with  Thine  Eyes,'  and  '  When  Other 
Lips.'  There  was  absolute  silence  as  the  last  sounds  of 
the  music  died  away,  and  tears  were  rolling  down  Aunt 
Rebeccah  Renaldson's  cheeks.  Mrs  Shaw  told  Nora 
afterwards,  that  if  she  had  been  wearing  an  apron,  she 
would  certainly  have  put  it  right  over  her  face,  in  spite  of 
her  best  cap. 

After  Mr  Penhurst  had  finished  playing,  Miss  Shafton 
cast  several  longing  looks  at  the  harmonium,  and  was 
seen  to  rise  from  her  corner,  and  edge  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  dangerous  spot.  It  is  quite  doubtful  whether 
Wullie  would  have  been  able  to  save  the  company  from 
a  much-dreaded  musical  entertainment,  but  that  Brian 
quite  unconsciously  came  to  the  rescue.  He  rose  to  go, 
and  Nora  and  her  father  had  arranged  to  see  him  home, 
so  they  too  rose. 

"  And  you  be  really  going  to  leave  us  the  day  after  to- 
morrow," Mrs  Mary  Shaw  said,  shaking  her  head  sadly 
at  Nora. 

"  If  David  keeps  his  promise  of  driving  us  to  the 
station,"  Nora  said,  smiling. 

"  I  be  not  so  sure  about  that,"  answered  the  black- 
smith. "  It's  a  job  I  don't  like.  Better  ask  the  car- 
penter. Perhaps  he'll  be  more  willing  to  see  the  last  of 
you,  Miss  Nora." 

147 


The  Fowler 

"  Not  I,"  said  the  carpenter,  staunchly.  "  But  I 
undertake,  Davie,  to  drive  and  meet  her  when  she  comes 
back  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  that !  "  answered  the  blacksmith.  "  That's 
been  my  business  these  many  summers,  and  Miss  Nora 
don't  come  back  in  no  trap  except  mine." 

"  It  don't  matter  in  whose  trap  she  comes  back,  so 
long  as  she  do  come  back,"  said  the  hostess  of  the  King's 
Head,  "  bringing  with  her  her  dear  father." 

"  Your  servant,  madam,"  said  Roger  Penhurst,  bowing 
gallantly,  and  putting  his  hand  to  his  heart. 

"  And  as  for  you,  Mr  Uppingham,  sir,"  said  Mrs  Mary, 
turning  to  Brian,  "  I'll  be  very  proud  to  make  you  com- 
fortable if  you  comes  to  stay  at  the  King's  Head." 


148 


Part  II 

CHAPTER    I 

THEODORE    BEVAN    AGAIN 

NORA  and  her  father  had  been  nearly  three  weeks  in 
London,  and  were  delighted  to  be  in  their  home  in  St 
George's  Square,  Primrose  Hill.  Nora  was,  in  a  way, 
relieved  by  Theodore  Bevan's  absence,  although  at  times 
she  missed  him  unaccountably,  and  found  herself  wonder- 
ing how  long  it  would  be  before  she  would  see  him  again. 
She  knew,  of  course,  that  she  would  see  him,  for  he  had 
told  her  that  he  would  soon  be  returning  to  London, 
when  he  hoped  to  have  a  long  uninterrupted  spell  of 
companionship  with  her;  and  meanwhile  he  would  send 
her  a  few  choice  books  bound  in  tree-calf.  She  had 
taken  this  opportunity  of  asking  him  not  to  give  her  any 
presents,  but  in  spite  of  her  request,  the  books  had  been 
posted  to  her,  and  inside  each  were  written  the  words  — 
Nora  Penhurst :  a  loan  from  her  friend.  This  did  not 
look  as  though  he  intended  to  lose  sight  of  her,  but  she 
was  too  busy  to  pay  much  heed  to  the  matter,  and  being 
once  more  in  London,  and  occupied  with  her  teaching, 
and  her  pleasures,  and  her  many  interests,  and  her  friends, 
two  or  three  of  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  some  time, 
Theodore  Bevan  retreated  into  the  background  of  the 
scene,  whence  he  emerged  occasionally,  and  caused,  as 
usual,  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness  —  mental  malaise^  in 
fact.  In  addition  to  her  High  School  work,  she  had 
several  private  pupils  whom  she  was  coaching  for  the 

149 


London  University  examinations,  and  she  also  had  a 
large  correspondence  class,  so  that  her  time  was  well 
filled  up.  But  she  found  leisure  enough  to  be  interested 
in  Danish,  and,  urged  by  her  old  Danish  professor,  she 
had  undertaken  the  translation  of  a  remarkable  book, 
with  the  spirit  of  which  she  had  been  greatly  struck. 
She  generally  went  on  Saturdays  to  the  British  Museum 
to  do  this  work ;  consulted  her  friend,  who  had  an 
official  position  there  ;  and  then  they  lunched  together, 
had  their  talks,  and  sometimes  went  together  to  the 
String  Quartette  Concerts.  She  always  took  some  kind 
of  recreation,  either  with  her  father  or  her  friends,  or 
both.  Her  friends  were  much  attached  to  Mr  Penhurst : 
his  strong  sympathy  with  and  understanding  of  young 
people  held  them  with  firm  chains,  and  his  own  bright 
interest  in  everything  acted  like  a  tonic  on  their  tempera- 
ments. He  seemed  to  have  an  equal  attraction  for  totally 
different  kinds  of  people ;  the  Danish  professor,  the 
young  man  who  wrote  sonnets  in  the  classical  style,  the 
Shakespearian  critic,  the  Chaucer  enthusiast,  Nora's  old 
college  chums,  and  some  of  her  Eagle  Club  acquaint- 
ances—  all  had  a  regard  for  him  which  made  his  share 
in  her  life  a  very  delightful  one.  Theodore  Bevan  alone 
had  made  him  feel  that  a  barrier  could  be  raised  between 
himself  and  his  beloved  daughter.  So  he  was  delighted 
to  be  free  from  the  little  man,  and  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal  his  satisfaction  ;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
spoke  constantly  of  Brian  Uppingham,  and  was  evi- 
dently looking  forward  to  seeing  a  great  deal  of  him  in 
London. 

"  You  were  right,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said,  several  times, 
"  when  you  assured  me  that  those  two  new  friends  of 
yours  did  not  belong  to  the  same  planet.  I  hope  to 
goodness'  sake  that,  if  we  are  destined  to  pass  from  one 

150 


Theodore  Bevan  Again 

planet  into  another,  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  inhabit  Mr 
Theodore  Bevan's  planet. 

"  But  the  historian  is  a  dear  fellow,"  he  added.  "  I 
should  get  to  love  him." 

At  first  Nora  did  not  mind  her  father's  unappreciative 
allusions  to  Theodore  Bevan,  probably  because  she  her- 
self was  feeling  the  advantage  of  being  away  from  his  in- 
fluence. But  as  the  days  wore  on,  she  began  to  wish  to 
see  him,  and  once  she  even  wrote  the  few  first  lines  of 
a  letter  to  him.  She  had  an  excuse  for  writing,  for  she 
had  not  acknowledged  any  of  the  books  which  he  had 
sent  to  her.  But  she  did  not  continue  the  letter ;  she 
tore  it  up  impatiently,  irritated  that  this  man  should 
haunt  her  with  such  persistence,  and  that  she  should  not 
be  able  to  put  him  from  her  mind.  No,  she  could  not 
free  herself.  In  spite  of  her  reluctance,  she  was  always 
recalling  their  walks,  their  talks,  their  many  disagree- 
ments. She  was  always  remembering  what  he  had  said 
about  her  great  responsibility  towards  him.  With  her 
mind's  eye,  she  saw  his  frail  and  small  person,  which  by 
reason  of  its  frailty  and  joylessness  appealed  to  the 
tender  pity  within  her.  She  felt  that  he  was  not  easily 
understood  by  other  people,  and  that  in  consequence,  he 
showed  them  his  most  unfavourable  side.  That  was 
the  only  answer  which  she  ever  made  to  her  father's 
criticism  of  him. 

"  He  needs  to  be  understood,"  she  said,  "  and  not 
every  one  has  the  key." 

Roger  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  wondered  whether 
Nora  thought  she  had  the  key.  He  was  half  fearful 
that  the  centipede,  as  he  privately  called  him,  would  put 
in  an  appearance  sooner  or  later ;  but  meanwhile  there 
were  no  signs  of  him,  and  Roger  Penhurst  had  never 
concerned  himself  too  anxiously  about  the  future.  He 


The  Fowler 

was  so  engrossed  in  his  music  —  he  was  organist  at  one 
of  the  Catholic  churches  —  and  his  books,  that  Theodore 
Bevan  slipped  out  of  his  horizon.  But  he  wrote  one  or 
two  letters  to  Brian  Uppingham,  to  whom  he  had  taken 
a  great  liking,  and  sent  him  some  fearfully  dry  books  on 
the  Functions  of  the  Brain  and  The  Dual  Mind,  which 
were  scarcely  calculated,  so  Nora  said,  to  help  on  the 
poor  historian's  convalescence.  Nora  wrote  to  him  too, 
and  sent  him  some  lighter  literature  to  counteract  the 
Functions  of  the  Brain. 

"  I  know  father's  little  ways,"  she  said  in  her  letter. 
"  When  I  was  recovering  from  rheumatic  fever,  he  pro- 
posed to  read  me  Spencer's  i  First  Principles  of  Psychol- 
ogy,' and  Browning's  c  Sordello,'  and  the  Second  Part  of 
1  Faust.'  So  I  feel  I  must  save  you  from  those  books 
which  I  have  been  ordered  to  post  to  you.  Go  they 
must,  for  father  believes  they  are  a  cure  for  all  physical 
and  mental  woes,  but  I  am  sending  this  other  little  pack- 
age with  them  as  an  antidote." 

It  was  a  Saturday  morning  when  she  posted  the  par- 
cels to  Brian  Uppingham,  and  she  was  thinking  of  him 
as  she  made  her  way  towards  the  British  Museum.  The 
thought  brought  happiness. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  how  is  it  that  I  do  not 
feel  free  to  love  that  dear  fellow  ?  All  my  heart  would 
go  out  to  him  if —  " 

And  there  her  thoughts  broke  off.  It  was  always  so. 
She  was  full  of  the  memory  of  him  that  morning,  and  as 
chance  would  have  it,  her  Danish  professor  began  talk- 
ing of  his  book,  which  had  recently  been  translated  in 
Danish,  and  of  which  he  had  just  received  a  copy  from 
a  friend  in  Copenhagen.  She  was  delighted  to  be  able 
to  tell  him  something  about  the  author,  and  as  she 
spoke,  she  found  herself  growing  gladder  at  heart  when 


Theodore  Bevan  Again 

she  suddenly  saw  a  little  figure  coming  out  of  the  read- 
ing-room, which  she  had  only  recently  left,  coming  de- 
liberately towards  her,  and  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  the  left.  Nora's  heart  sank.  It  was  Theodore 
Bevan.  Professor  Frimodt,  who  was  a  great  wild-look- 
ing creature,  gazed  with  some  curiosity  at  the  new-comer, 
and  then  stood  apart,  awaiting  Nora's  pleasure,  for  it 
was  about  the  hour  of  lunch. 

"  Good  morning,"  Theodore  Bevan  said,  with  quiet 
assurance.  "  Instinct  told  me  that  I  should  find  you 
here.  It  is  now  lunch  time.  Shall  we  go  over  the  way 
to  the  corner  shop  ?  " 

"  I  generally  lunch  here  with  Professor  Frimodt," 
Nora  said,  annoyed  at  being  taken  possession  of  in  this 
manner,  and  yet  unable  to  show  all  the  vexation  she 
really  felt.  Then  turning  to  her  Danish  friend,  she 
introduced  him  to  Theodore  Bevan,  who  gave  him  a 
slight  acknowledgment,  such  as  an  old-established  .ac- 
quaintance might  concede  to  a  new  one,  for  the  existence 
of  whom  he  does  not  see  any  special  reason.  Nora 
herself  was  amused  as  well  as  irritated,  for  she  had 
known  Professor  Frimodt  for  at  least  twelve  years,  and 
it  seemed  too  absurd  to  see  him  set  on  one  side  by  this 
little  upstart  from  the  unknown.  She  felt  very  much 
inclined  to  administer  a  good  snubbing  to  him,  and  leave 
him  to  his  own  devices.  But  she  did  not  attempt  it, 
although  she  wondered  at  herself  for  her  want  of  moral 
courage  :  either  she  could  not  do  it,  or  else  she  knew 
by  instinct  that  Theodore  Bevan  would  not  accept  dis- 
missal. Perhaps  it  was  a  little  of  both  feelings  which 
kept  her  natural  spirit  in  check. 

"  We  can  all  three  lunch  together  here,"  Theodore 
Bevan  suggested,  and  the  Danish  professor  assented  with 
a  fair  show  of  politeness,  but  felt  that  the  lunch,  and 

153 


The  Fowler 

the  chat  about  Scandinavian  literature,  was  spoilt  for 
that  day. 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  me  about  that  new  young 
poet  whom  you  have  discovered,"  Nora  said  to  him 
when  they  were  all  seated  and  were  served  with  their 
coffee  and  rolls. 

41  Ah  yes,  to  be  sure,"  he  said,  "  and  a  real  poet  too, 
not  a  weakling,  but  a  true  Viking.  You  will  be  de- 
lighted with  him.  See  here  —  some  fine  stanzas  on 
Liberty." 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  some  papers  from  his  lettercase, 
and  then  put  them  back  again. 

"  Some  other  time,"  he  said,  shaking  his  bushy  head, 
"  some  other  time,  my  dear  young  lady,  when  I  am 
overflowing  with  enthusiasm,  and  can  be  sure  of  giving 
you  a  good  dose  of  it.  Have  you  yet  room  in  what 
your  father  calls  the  golden  goblet  of  the  wine  of  life  ? 
Ah,  I  often  think  of  that.  It  is  so  true  that  enthusiasm 
is  the  very  wine  of  life." 

He  relapsed  into  silence  after  this  remark,  drank  his 
coffee  in  the  dreariest  fashion,  and  finally,  making  some 
excuse,  slipped  away,  leaving  Theodore  Bevan  in  pos- 
session of  the  field.  Nora  knew  that  the  presence  of 
the  stranger  had  chilled  her  Dane.  She  reflected  that 
if  he  was  going  to  have  this  freezing  effect  on  all  her 
friends,  the  less  she  saw  of  him  the  better.  She  rose 
to  go,  and  told  Bevan  that  she  wished  to  spend  an  hour 
or  so  in  the  New  Gallery,  and  she  would  therefore  take 
leave  of  him. 

"  My  afternoon  is  free,"  he  said,  simply.  "  I  should 
like  to  spend  it  with  you." 

She  could  not  refuse  him,  for  at  that  moment  he 
seemed  to  be  like  a  child  pleading. 

So  they  went  together  to  the  Gallery,  and  by  degrees 
154 


Theodore  Bevan  Again 

he  overcame  her  unwillingness  of  manner,  of  which  he 
had  been  conscious.  He  could  be  a  charming  com- 
panion when  he  chose,  and  on  this  occasion  he  was 
at  his  best,  and  talked  delightfully  about  pictures  and 
painters.  When  they  were  coming  out  of  the  Gallery, 
Nora  met  one  of  her  friends  who  detained  her  in  the 
hall.  Nora  held  out  her  hand  to  Theodore  Bevan,  and 
expected  that  he  would  now  leave  her. 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  will  wait 
for  you." 

"  Good  gracious !  "  she  thought  to  herself.  "  Doesn't 
he  ever  intend  to  go  ?  " 

When  she  had  finished  talking  with  her  friend,  she 
looked  up  and  saw  him  still  waiting.  Either  he  did  not, 
or  would  not,  know  that  she  really  was  wishing  to  go  on 
her  own  way.  She  felt  she  must  take  the  matter  in  her 
hands  and  dismiss  him.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  be 
guarded  in  this  persistent  fashion. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr  Bevan,"  she  said,  a  little  brusquely. 
"  I  shall  see  you  some  other  time,  I  dare  say." 

"  I  am  going  in  your  direction,"  he  said. 

44 1  think  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  for  running 
off  alone,"  she  said.  "  I  am  so  very  tired." 

He  drew  himself  up,  and  stiffened  into  something  like 
dignity. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I  fear  I  have 
intruded  on  you  too  long.  The  gods  have  withholden 
many  things  from  me,  and  amongst  them  tact.  Ah, 
well,  do  not,  I  beg  you,  have  that  against  me.  Let  my 
excuse  be  that  I  have  been  hungering  for  the  sight  of 
you.  Here  is  your  omnibus.  Good-night." 

All  the  way  home  Nora  reproached  herself  for  her 
ungraciousness  to  him  ;  for  he  seemed  to  have  the  power 
of  always  putting  people  in  the  wrong  with  themselves. 

155 


The  Fowler 

She  quite  forgot  that  he  had  frustrated  her  afternoon,  and 
annoyed  her;  she  only  remembered  that  she  had  dis- 
missed him  somewhat  unkindly,  and  wounded  his  feel- 
ings. His  words  echoed  in  her  ears : 

"Let  my  excuse  be  that  I  have  been   hungering  for 
the  sight  of  you." 


'5* 


The  Historian  Again 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    HISTORIAN    AGAIN 

NORA  told  her  father  that  she  had  seen  Theodore  Bevan 
in  town,  but  she  did  not  add  that  she  had  been  obliged  to 
dismiss  him. 

"Well,  and  did  you  find  him  as  charming  as  ever?" 
her  father  said,  ironically. 

"  Father,  I  have  never  found  him  charming,"  Nora 
answered.  u  But  I  do  think  he  has  some  kind  of  power 
which  is  irresistible." 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  admit  to  ourselves  that  any  kind  of 
influence  is  irresistible,  unless  we  can  be  quite  sure  that 
it  is  of  a  beautiful  and  healthy  nature,"  said  her  father ; 
"  and  even  then  we  have  the  right  to  guard  our  independ- 
ence of  spirit  and  our  best  individuality.  We  certainly 
ought  not  to  allow  ourselves  to  be  swallowed  up  by  other 
people's  badness  —  nor  their  goodness  either." 

"  But  what  is  the  history  of  life,  except  a  record  of 
irresistible  influences  either  in  the  one  direction  or  the 
other  ?  "  Nora  said. 

"  Quite  so,"  he  answered ;  "  but  that  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  go  on  adding  pages  to  the  unlovely  chapters  of 
the  record." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  lit  another  cigar. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  feel  about  this  Mr.  Bevan," 
he  said, "  because  you  have  not  confided  in  me  —  and  of 
course  there  was  no  reason  why  you  should.  But  if  you 
are  being  attracted  to  him  unwillingly,  and  with  any 
uneasy  misgivings,  and  yet  in  the  full  belief  that  you  can- 


The  Fowler 

not  help  yourself,  my  Nora,  then  I  do  urge  you  strongly 
to  pull  yourself  up  in  time.  It  can  be  done,  and  cer- 
tainly by  you.  It  is  only  a  question  of  being  willing  to 
make  the  effort." 

"You  must  not  take  too  seriously  what  I've  just  said 
in  passing,"  Nora  answered,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  kind  of  influence  a 
man  like  Bevan  would  have  on  another  person,"  her 
father  continued,  "  but  on  me  he  would  have  little  or  no 
effect.  But  that  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  exer- 
cise a  tremendous  power  over  some  one  of  a  different 
temperament  from  myself.  The  qualities  in  him  which 
are  unpleasing  to  me,  may  just  be  those  very  character- 
istics which  attract  some  one  else  to  him.  There  is  no 
accounting  for  these  mysterious  and  subtle  differences  in 
character,  and  influence  over  character.  We  certainly 
do  not  help  any  one  by  trying  to  laugh  them  away,  and 
pretending  that  because  we  ourselves  are  not  influenced 
by  such  and  such  a  person,  therefore  no  one  else  need 
be.  We  all  know  very  little  of  each  other  —  even  those 
of  us  who  are  most  intimate  together  —  and  we  can  be 
but  poor  judges  of  the  forces  which  are  likely  to  attract 
and  hold  other  people.  We  can  only  look  on  and 
wonder,  and  desire  to  help.  But  we  can  only  help 
provided  that  we  are  not  clumsy.  And  most  of  us 
are  clumsy  —  including  your  father." 

He  smiled  at  her  as  he  spoke,  and  added  quaintly  : 

"  But  then  I  was  never  intended  to  be  a  father.  It  is 
an  occupation  for  which  I  had  no  natural  genius." 

u  You  have  acquired  a  beautiful  talent  for  it  as  you 
went  along,"  Nora  said,  affectionately. 

"  I  have  loved  you  a  great  deal,  believed  in  you,  and 
have  allowed  you  to  do  very  much  as  you  pleased,"  he 
answered,  stroking  her  hair,  "  partly  because  I  believed 

158 


The  Historian  Again 

in  you  so  thoroughly,  and  partly  because  I  have  been 
lazy." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  said : 
"  You  know  I  hate  preaching,  and  it  is  rather  late  in 
the  day  for  me  to  get  up  into  the  pulpit  and  hold  forth 
about  wisdom  and  discretion  and  all  the  other  virtues 
to  which  I  myself  have  never  been  able  to  attain.  But 
I  do  say  to  you :  l  Take  care  of  your  mind,  and  don't 
let  it  be  overshadowed  by  any  one  —  man  or  woman.' '' 
Nora  dreamed  of  Theodore  Bevan  that  night.  She 
dreamed  that  they  were  strolling  together  through  a 
dense  forest,  when  suddenly  she  came  upon  a  narrow 
trail  leading  to  a  more  open  space.  She  could  see  the 
sky  between  the  branches  of  the  trees.  Her  heart 
leapt  within  her.  There  was  light,  and  freedom,  and 
expanse.  She  bounded  off,  treading  the  fallen  leaves 
crisply  beneath  her  feet,  and  singing  for  very  joy  as 
she  went.  But  all  at  once,  the  forest  thickened,  and 
she  could  see  no  sky  between  the  clustering  boughs : 
the  narrow  track  came  abruptly  to  an  end,  and  she 
found  herself  on  the  former  path  again  face  to  face 
with  her  companion.  "  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  I  waited  for 
you.  I  knew  you  would  come  out  here."  Then 
they  strolled  on  hour  after  hour,  without  interruption, 
until  they  chanced  upon  another  side  track,  and  Nora 
hastened  on  to  it,  and  tried  to  make  her  way  towards 
the  stream.  She  longed  to  see  the  water,  and  taste  of 
it,  and  feel  it  on  her  hands  and  feverish  face.  But  as 
she  struggled  on,  having  just  caught  one  glimpse  of  a 
silver  thread  in  the  distance,  the  great  trees  sprang  up 
in  dense  array  and  encompassed  her  on  all  sides ;  and 
when  at  last  she  laboured  through  them,  she  came  out 
on  to  the  main  path,  where  her  companion  was  standing 
with  a  curious  smile  around  his  thin  lips. 

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The  Fowler 

"  All  the  paths  lead  back  to  me,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  It  avails  nothing  for  you  to  strike  out  for  yourself. 
We  have  to  journey  on  together,  you  and  I,  whether 
you  like  it  or  not." 

"  No ;  I  can  go  back,"  she  said,  passionately.  "  I 
can  retrace  my  steps." 

He  laughed,  and  pointed  to  the  forest  in  the  rear, 
which  seemed  to  have  become  impenetrable,  like  a  great 
solid  wall  barring  the  way — and  Nora  awoke. 

She  could  not  forget  her  dream ;   it  had  disturbed  her. 

But  in  the  morning,  after  her  father  had  gone  off  to 
his  church-duties,  her  thoughts  were  diverted  from  evil 
forebodings  by  the  arrival  of  Mrs  Ellerton,  the  friend 
who  had  introduced  her  to  Nurse  Isabel.  She  was  an 
old  school-friend  of  Nora's,  and  was  the  unfortunate 
owner  of  a  hypochondriacal  husband,  who  caused  her 
a  great  deal  of  trouble. 

"  He  never  enjoys  anything,"  Mrs  Ellerton  answered, 
in  reply  to  Nora's  inquiries  about  Mr  Ellerton.  "  He 
is  fearful  the  whole  time  lest  what  he  is  doing  at  that 
particular  moment  may  make  him  feel  ill  the  next 
moment.  The  only  thing  that  he  does  enjoy  is  a  con- 
sultation with  a  new  specialist,  or  the  arrival  of  a  new 
patent  medicine.  That  was  the  only  thing  he  enjoyed 
at  Milan,  and  I  took  advantage  of  his  content  to  spend 
the  whole  day  in  the  cathedral.  I  can  generally  reckon 
now  on  having  one  gala-day  in  a  new  place ;  as  it 
is  not  often  that  he  omits  to  see  the  leading  physician 
and  the  most  expensive  English  chemist.  Sometimes 
he  honours  the  dentist  too  ! " 

She  looked  at  Nora,  and  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

"  Don't  we  make  curious  hashes  of  our  lives  ? "  she 
said.  "  I  always  vowed  that  if  I  married  it  should  be 
a  man  who  would  be  a  companion  after  my  own  heart, 

1 60 


The  Historian  Again 

and  that  we  would  discuss  and  write  and  read  together. 
As  it  is  now,  the  only  reading  we  ever  do  together  is 
the  directions  on  the  bottles  of  the  new  patent  medi- 
cines :  '  so  many  teaspoons  for  a  child,  and  so  many 
teaspoons  for  an  adult.'  For  a  soul  that  aspired  to 
Dante  and  Shakespeare,  and  Herbert  Spencer  and  Plato, 
the  fall  is  rather  a  serious  one. 

"  'And  all  the  king's  horses,  and  all  the  king's  men, 
Could  not  put  Humpty  Dumpty  up  again.' ' 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  but  she  brushed  them 
away  indignantly  with  her  little  lace  handkerchief,  and 
then  whisked  it  into  Nora's  face. 

"  Don't  you  get  yourself  into  a  muddle,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  affectionately,  "  either  a  married  muddle  or  an  un- 
married muddle.  You've  managed  wonderfully  so  far. 
I  suppose  it  is  because  you  have  always  been  accustomed 
to  the  companionship  of  men  ;  and  that  must  help  one  to 
keep  one's  judgment.  Still,  one  never  knows,  and  per- 
haps even  you  may  come  to  grief,  Nora.  Most  women 
do,  some  way  or  other." 

"  Perhaps  my  turn  will  come,"  said  Nora,  laughing, 
"  and  then  I  shall  fulfil  our  common  destiny." 

"  Well,"  her  friend  answered,  "  I  will  help  you  out 
if  I  am  anywhere  near  you  at  the  time.  As  you  know, 
Xom  still  goes  on  whirling  me  from  one  end  of  the 
world  to  the  other.  He  is  in  excellent  health,  but  always 
haunted  by  the  belief  that  he  is  a  dying  man.  Poor  old 
fellow  :  he  dies  several  deaths  every  week.  Certainly 
he  carries  out  Goethe's  injunction  :  l  Sterb'  und  werde.' >: 

"  It    has    seemed    such    a    pity,  Bessie,"   Nora    said. 

"You  both  might  have  had  such  a  delightful  life  with 

all  your  money  and  leisure,  and  you  were  meant  for  it. 

I  so  grudge  you  this  constant  attendance  on  a  man  who 

ii  161 


The  Fowler 

has    nothing  whatever  the   matter   with  him ;  and  you 
yourself  look  tired  out.      Can't  he  see  that  ?  " 

Bessie  Ellerton  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  begin  to  think,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  that  we  all 
probably  get  the  kind  of  life  for  which  we  were  meant. 
If  we  had  been  meant  for  something  else,  we  should 
have  managed  to  attain  to  it.  You  don't  believe  that  ? 
Nor  do  I  really !  But  it  sounds  comforting  and  philo- 
sophical, and  if  repeated  a  sufficient  number  of  times,  it 
carries  persuasion.  As  for  me  looking  tired,  why  you 
yourself  do  not  seem  much  better  for  your  holiday." 

"  I  think  I  have  undertaken  rather  too  much  work," 
Nora  said.  "  It  is  overtaxing  me  a  little  —  nothing  to 
speak  of,  though,  for  I  am  so  strong." 

"  Don't  become  fashionable  and  have  a  breakdown," 
her  friend  said.  "  And  now,  before  I  go,  tell  me  about 
your  holiday  and  Nurse  Isabel  and  Mr  Uppingham.  I 
want  to  hear  all  about  him.  Did  you  lose  your  heart  to 
him  ?  You  wrote  very  enthusiastically  of  him." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  have  lost  my  heart  to  him," 
Nora  said,  half-dreamily.  "  I  should  be  very  glad  if  I 
had.  I  have  never  in  my  life  liked  any  one  so  much. 
But  ...  " 

She  was  going  to  say,  "  But  I  am  not  free."  She 
stopped  herself. 

"  But  I  suppose  if  I  had  lost  my  heart  to  him,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  brightness,  "  I  should  not  be  in  any 
doubt  about  the  matter." 

"  No,  probably  not,"  Mrs  Ellerton  answered,  laughing. 
44  It  is  generally  afterwards  that  the  doubt  comes.  What 
about  the  other  man  —  I  forget  his  name  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  very  curious  man,"  Nora  said.  "  I  cannot 
shake  him  off.  I  am  always  thinking  of  him  against 
my  will." 

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The  Historian  Again 

"  Ah,  that's  bad,  unless  you  love  him  —  and  then  it 
would  not  be  against  your  will,"  Mrs  Ellerton  said,  and 
her  mind  reverted  to  Madge  Carson,  and  she  was  just 
going  to  speak  of  her,  when  Mr  Ellerton  arrived,  and 
carried  his  wife  off  in  a  whirlwind  of  hurry.  After  they 
had  gone,  Nora  stood  looking  out  of  the  window  and 
thinking  of  her  genial  little  school-friend.  The  words 
echoed  in  Nora's  ears  : 

"  Perhaps  you  too  will  come  to  grief.  Most  women 
do  some  way  or  other."  And  her  own  answer  was 
wafted  back  to  her : 

"  Then  I  shall  fulfil  our  common  destiny." 

And  the  next  minute  she  thought  of  her  dream,  and 
shuddered.  "  Oh,  this  is  ridiculous,"  she  said,  giving 
herself  a  mental  shake.  "  As  if  one  were  not  a  free 
agent,  and  could  not  retain  one's  independence  of  spirit, 
—  and  in  these  days,  too,  when  there  is  no  mental 
court  of  Inquisition.  I  begin  to  think  that  I  am  pass- 
ing through  a  phase  of  morbidness.  I  must  brace  my- 
self up.  It  is  not  as  though  there  were  no  one  to  help 
me.  There  is  father.  And  there  is  —  yes,  there  is 
Brian  Uppingham,  who  has  made  me  feel  that  he  loves 
me,  and  whom  I  never  see  without  a  thrill  of  joy  and 
hope  and  absolute  belief.  Why  should  I  not  go  forth 
to  meet  him?  There  is  not  any  barrier.  It  is  only  my 
morbid  imagination.  Like  many  other  people,  I  am  afraid 
to  touch  happiness  —  I,  who  have  so  laughed  at  half- 
heartedness  and  weak-minded  hesitancy  and  inaneness ! 
And  now  I  am  afraid  myself.  Or  is  there  a  barrier? 
Surely  I  can  break  through  it  if  I  choose.  .  .  ." 

A  hansom  cab  drove  slowly  up  to  the  door,  and  a 
great  wave  of  pleasure  encircled  Nora. 

"  It  is  Mr  Uppingham  himself,"  she  said,  and  all 
gloom  fled  from  her. 

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The  Fowler 

She  opened  the  door  to  him,  and  laughed  with  pleas- 
ure and  amusement  to  see  him  laden  with  sundry  parcels 
of  a  distinctly  countrified  calibre. 

"  A  sack  of  vegetables,  a  pot  of  walnut  pickle,  some 
butter,  and  some  cakes,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  I  think 
that  is  all.  No,  I've  forgotten  the  bottle  of  dandelion 
wine,  of  which  I  wish  you  joy,  and  a  few  dead  trailing 
branches  which  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  insisted  sternly  on  my 
bringing  to  you  without  fail.  And  Reuben  has  sent 
you  a  bottle  of  medicine  labelled  l  For  the  shivers  '  — 
something  very  special,  I  believe ;  and  great-uncle  sent 
you  his  blessing,  and  wished  you  to  know  that  he  had 
finished  all  his  shag  !  " 

"  How  well  you  look,"  Nora  said,  glancing  at  him  in 
surprise.  He  seemed  quite  a  different  person  from  the 
delicate  invalid  whom  she  had  left  only  a  few  weeks  ago. 

"  I  have  been  getting  stronger  by  leaps  and  bounds," 
he  said,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  sofa.  "  I  only  came 
up  from  Graystoke  yesterday.  It  was  very  lonely  after 
you  had  gone.  But  I  was  determined  to  stay  on  and 
try  in  every  way  to  recover  some  kind  of  health  and 
strength  for  my  work.  The  village  people  have  amused 
me  endlessly,  and  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  has  been  most  kind 
to  me.  My  striking  resemblance  to  that  artist  who  never 
paid  his  bills,  evidently  quite  endeared  me  to  her." 

He  chatted  on,  telling  her  all  the  news  about  the 
King's  Head  and  the  Punchbowl  and  the  ancestors,  and 
giving  her  all  the  kindly  messages  with  which  he  had 
been  charged  from  many  sides.  He  was  so  happy  to  be 
with  her  once  more,  and  showed  his  gladness  without 
any  attempt  at  concealment.  It  shone  out  with  a  great 
warmth  and  golden  light.  He  had  not  weakened  his 
power  of  loving  by  frittering  it  away;  he  had  it,  there- 
fore, unimpaired  in  strength  and  purity,  with  a  freshness 

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The  Historian  Again 

which  lent  it  all  the  greater  charm,  because  it  was  the 
freshness  of  a  wise  and  pure  heart.  He  did  not  use 
words  of  love  to  Nora,  but  the  quiet  way  in  which  he 
gave  evidence  of  how  much  he  needed  her,  and  of  how 
much  she  had  already  become  to  him  in  his  daily  life, 
was  more  convincing  than  any  eloquence  of  protestation. 
Nora  saw  it  and  recognised  it,  and  a  thrill  went  through 
her. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  you  about  the  progress  of 
the  book,"  he  said.  "  I  have  all  sorts  of  new  ideas  for  it. 
But  first  I  want  to  show  you  something.  I  know  it  will 
interest  you.  It  is  my  poor  little  Thyra's  certificate  for 
the  London  Matriculation.  It  came  after  her  death,  but 
even  then  I  was  proud  of  it." 

Nora  took  the  paper  in  her  hands  and  looked  at  the 
name  inscribed  on  it :  Thyra  Uppingbam. 

"  You  see  she  was  only  eighteen,"  he  continued, 
pointing  to  the  age  recorded  there.  "  That  is  very 
young  to  die." 

"  It  seems  a  wanton  waste  to  be  called  away  at  eigh- 
teen," Nora  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  as  he  half  caressed  the  docu- 
ment, "  that  is  what  I  have  said  in  the  bitterness  of  my 
heart — such  a  wanton  waste.  And  that  is  what  I  felt 
when  I  lost  my  friend  —  a  noble  fellow  too,  not  a  man 
whom  the  world  could  lightly  spare.  I  suppose  we  all 
say  that,  when  we  lose  those  whom  we  have  loved,  and 
in  whom  we  have  believed  with  all  our  hearts.  We 
know  we  are  poorer,  and  we  are  convinced  that  the  world 
is  poorer  too.  And  if  our  love  is  strong  enough  —  and 
it  generally  is  —  we  say  it  of  the  worthless  ones  as  well. 
For  whatever  they  may  really  be,  they  are  not  worthless 
to  us,  and  we  cannot  conceive  of  them  being  worthless 
to  other  people.  We  go  on  believing  to  the  very  last  in 

165 


The  Fowler 

their  possibilities,  and  when  the  end  has  come,  it  is  in 
the  remembrance  of  their  possibilities  that  we  take  what 
pride  we  may,  saying  always  with  unfaltering  faith  that 
the  world  is  the  poorer  for  having  lost  them.  But  when 
there  is  no  question  in  our  own  hearts  or  in  the  hearts 
of  others  about  the  worth  of  our  dear  dead  ones  —  when 
they  showed  sure  signs  of  what  they  were  going  to  do  and 
be,  to  make  us  prouder  and  the  world  richer —  is  there 
any  comfort  that  we  can  take  over  the  wanton  waste  of 
beautiful  material  ?  I  don't  know  of  any,  except  our 
own  tender  thankfulness  that  they  belonged  to  us,  that 
they  were  our  very  own.  That  is  some  comfort,  a  poor 
one,  but  human  enough,  and  therefore  not  ignoble." 

"  Only  it  does  not  really  suffice,"  Nora  said. 

u  Oh  no,  it  does  not  suffice,  of  course,"  he  said,  "  but 
there  seems  to  be  no  choice  between  absolute  starvation 
and  feeding  on  fancy-bread,  which  just  stays  off  the 
sinking,  but  does  not  still  the  real  hunger  pangs  of  yearn- 
ing. Nothing  can  still  that  for  us  :  not  the  finest  doctrine 
or  dogma,  though  we  may  saturate  ourselves  through  and 
through  with  its  meaning  and  promises,  and  almost  per- 
suade ourselves  that  we  are  comforted." 

He  folded  up  the  certificate,  and  turned  to  her  with 
a  smile. 

"  And  yet  such  strange  creatures  of  impulse  and  irre- 
sponsibility are  we,"  he  said,  "  that  even  those  of  us  who 
pride  ourselves  on  having  left  the  low-lying  plains  of 
tradition  and  religious  romance  and  fable,  find  our  way 
back  to  the  old  haunts  which  we  had  vowed  never  to 
revisit.  We  wander  gladly  over  the  fields  and  through 
the  sheltered  lanes,  picking  sweet-scented  things  from 
the  hedges.  We  cannot  help  ourselves :  we  are  driven 
there  again  and  again  by  some  force  which  may  be 
simply  the  resultant  of  all  the  influences  at  work  during 

166 


The  Historian  Again 

the  centuries  gone  by,  or  else  our  own  soul's  innate  ne- 
cessity, something  altogether  independent  of  time  and 
creed  and  imitation.  So  I  find  myself  re-fashioning  my 
little  Thyra,  watching  her  career  in  her  new  world,  and 
still  expecting  her  to  make  her  mark  in  her  chosen  work, 
with  freer  conditions,  keener  gifts,  and  strengthened 
abilities,  and  wider  scope.  She  will  be  a  good  doctor 
yet,  I  think,  and  will  discover  some  rare  remedy  for 
which  her  name  will  be  beloved  through  all  the  ages. 
You  see  I  am  ambitious  for  her  even  now  :  I  can't  help 
myself —  and  I  cannot  help  telling  you." 

"  I  am  so  very  glad  that  you  care  to  tell  me,"  Nora 
said,  warmly. 

The  ring  of  truth  in  her  voice  was  like  music  to  him. 
It  called  him  out  of  the  realms  of  regret  and  sadness  into 
a  fairyland  of  light  and  love  and  hope.  He  had  passed 
on,  as  we  all  of  necessity  must.  He  looked  at  her  ad- 
miringly, and  felt  a  sudden  access  of  happiness  in  her 
presence,  and  an  access  of  certainty  too,  that  sooner  or 
later  he  might  claim  her  as  his  own. 

"  Ah,"  he  said, "  do  you  remember  me  telling  you  that  I 
had  nothing  to  live  for  ?  The  words  were  scarcely  out  of 
my  mouth  before  I  knew  that  the  something  had  come." 

She  turned  away  from  him,  and  an  anxious  look  passed 
over  her  face,  as  though  of  an  inward  strife.  Brian  had 
seen  that  shadow  before.  He  was  soon  to  know,  only 
too  well,  what  it  meant. 

They  sat  together  after  that,  talking  not  of  Death  and 
the  pathos  of  our  strained  efforts  to  comfort  ourselves  in 
some  irreparable  loss,  but  of  active  life,  bounding  am- 
bition, restless  endeavour,  Little  Englanders,  Big  Eng- 
landers,  and,  finally,  the  standing  of  women  in  the  new 
spheres,  and  the  question  of  a  fair  wage  in  return  for 
her  services.  Nora  was  very  keen  on  that  subject,  and 

167 


The  Fowler 

expressed  great  indignation  that  women  should  still  be 
paid  less,  in  England  at  least,  for  precisely  the  same 
kind  of  work  done  by  men  at  a  considerably  higher 
rate  of  remuneration. 

She  said : 

"  That  question  of  a  lower  wage  for  a  woman,  based 
on  the  sole  reason  of  her  being  a  woman,  and  not  neces- 
sarily of  her  being  an  inferior  worker,  always  stirs  me  up 
a  good  deal,  probably  because  it  comes  home  to  me  with 
peculiar  directness.  As  a  teacher,  for  instance,  certifi- 
cated, and  with  every  right,  so  far  as  academic  cachet 
goes,  to  be  paid  as  well  as  a  man  who  has  taken  a  poorer 
degree  and  has  less  teaching  ability  than  myself,  I  never- 
theless cannot  ever  expect  to  attain  to  his  salary,  given 
the  same  conditions,  of  course.  And  moreover  the  idea 
is  so  burnt  into  all  our  brains,  male  and  female  too,  that 
we  can  get  very  little  help  from  our  own  sex.  It  is  not 
so  long  ago  that  one  of  our  most  advanced  women  —  a 
well-known  speaker  on  social  subjects  —  applied  to  me 
to  give  her  Latin  lessons  at  starvation  price,  and  wished 
to  bring  a  friend  to  share  the  instruction  with  her.  I 
think  she  offered  two  shillings  the  hour.  I  told  her  that 
the  fee  was  too  small,  and  that  it  was  not  usual  to  teach 
two  people  for  the  price  of  one.  She  said  that  she  was 
sorry  for  her  mistake,  but  she  understood  that  lady  pro- 
fessors charged  less  than  men." 

"  Well,"  Brian  said,  "  it  is  just  another  illustration  of 
what  we  spoke  of  before,  that  women  have  not  cared 
enough  to  help  themselves  or  each  other.  It  is  always 
astonishing  to  me  how  little  they  have  cared.  A  few, 
of  course,  have  cared  tremendously ;  but  the  masses 
have  remained  indifferent,  and  would  continue  so  now, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  rousing  of  the  plucky  ones." 

"  I  don't  admit  that,"  Nora  said.  "  I  think  it  is  only 
1 68 


The  Historian  Again 

that  we  are  still  hampered  by  custom  and  prejudice.  I 
do  not  believe  for  one  moment  that  women  are  indiffer- 
ent, or  unwilling  to  help  each  other.  But  we  have  to 
learn.  We  need  our  apprenticeship,  like  all  workmen 
who  are  going  to  be  worth  anything." 

"  Well,"  Brian  answered,  "  you  know  I  am  as  much 
a  woman's  advocate  as  you  are,  but  I  honestly  believe 
that  the  greater  number  of  your  sex  are  still  quite  indif- 
ferent. Take  this  very  question  of  payment,  to  which 
you  have  referred.  No  one  can  drive  a  harder  bargain 
with  a  woman  than  a  woman,  especially  the  highly  moral 
and  sanctimonious  woman.  I  should  not  be  surprised  to 
hear  that  it  is  a  woman  who  suggests  post-office  and  other 
Government  economies ! " 

"  You  should  write  a  brochure  about  these  subjects," 
Nora  said. 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me,"  he  said,  reproach- 
fully. 

"  No  indeed,  I  am  not,"  she  answered.  "  After  all,  no 
one  can  help  women  so  much  as  men  —  if  they  choose. 
And  even  in  these  modern  times,  it  is  a  rare  thing  to  find 
a  man  who  is  generous  and  just  enough  to  give  to  women 
the  full  benefit  and  help  of  his  man's  way  of  looking  at 
things.  As  a  rule,  men  are  content  to  use  women,  and 
then  laugh  at  their  limitations  and  mistakes,  and  then 
say,  '  There,  I  told  you  so  —  thus  far  and  no  farther.'  " 

11  You  should  write  the  brochure  yourself,"  he  said ; 
but  she  shook  her  head,  and  they  passed  on  to  the  subject 
of  his  own  book. 

"  I  have  been  going  straight  ahead  with  it,"  he  said, 
"  pretending  to  believe  in  myself,  and  sometimes  almost 
succeeding.  I  have  had  no  relapses  into  depression.  I 
must  write  and  tell  Nurse  Isabel  that.  She  is  away  on 
the  Continent  with  her  famous  nerve-specialist,  with 

169 


The  Fowler 

whom  she  appears  to  be  having  a  duller  time  than  she 
had  with  me." 

"  I  have  a  real  affection  for  Nurse  Isabel,"  Nora  said. 
"  I  so  often  think  of  her  quaint  sayings.  I  hope  she  will 
soon  be  home  again." 

"I  have  every  reason  to  be  thankful  to  her,"  Brian 
said.  "  I  would  do  anything  for  Nurse  Isabel.  She 
brought  you  into  my  life.  And  .  .  ." 

"  Ah,  it's  the  historian  !  "  said  a  cheery  voice  of  wel- 
come, and  Roger  Penhurst  came  into  the  room.  "  Greet- 
ing to  you  and  good  luck  !  Let's  have  dinner  at  once, 
Nora,  my  girl,  and  we'll  drink  a  quart  of  champagne,  and 
pretend  that  we  are  old  friends.  That  is  the  way,  Mr. 
Uppingham,  to  begin  a  friendship  with  a  visitor  who  is 
as  welcome  as  yourself !  " 


170 


Out  of  Harmony 


CHAPTER   III 

OUT   OF    HARMONY 

BUT  in  spite  of  the  pleasure  which  Nora  felt  in  being 
with  Brian  Uppingham,  she  did  not  lose  the  sensation 
of  uneasiness  about  Theodore  Bevan,  whom  she  had  dis- 
missed so  summarily ;  and  as  the  days  went  by  and  she 
had  no  news  of  him,  she  began  to  be  quite  restless  and 
distracted.  She  could  not  reason  herself  out  of  this  state 
of  mind,  although  she  made  several  valiant  attempts. 
At  last,  one  evening,  when  she  was  sitting  alone  pre- 
paring a  lesson  on  Prometheus  Vinctus,  the  bell  rang, 
and  Nora  looked  up  from  her  books.  Her  father  had 
gone  to  a  lecture  on  '  Human  Origins,'  and  she  had  not 
felt  inclined  to  accompany  him.  He  seemed  to  have  an 
inexhaustible  fund  of  brain-strength,  and  could  apply  his 
mind  to  anything  he  wished,  and  at  any  moment.  Nora 
could  not  keep  pace  with  him,  and  lately  she  had  been 
feeling  listless.  So  she  stopped  at  home,  and  did  her 
work  in  a  half-hearted  sort  of  way,  until  the  bell  rang, 
and  Theodore  Bevan  came  into  the  cosy  sitting-room. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  smiling  gravely.  "  I  am 
lucky  to  find  you  in." 

"  Good  evening,"  Nora  said,  curiously  relieved  that 
he  had  come,  and  yet  astonished  too,  for  she  had  never 
asked  him  to  visit  her.  There  were  signs  of  both  feelings 
in  her  greeting  to  him,  but  the  first  predominated. 

"  I  should  have  come  before,"  he  continued,  "  but  that 
I  have  been  prevented  by  pressure  of  work  in  the  first 
instance,  and  then  by  the  suicide  of  a  friend." 

171 


The  Fowler 

"  The  suicide  of  a  friend  !  "  Nora  said,  shocked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  as  he  sank  down  in  the  easy-chair. 
"  With  a  shadow  like  that  upon  one,  one  may  well  feel 
that  life  is  a  hideous  affair.  I  have  never  been  in  love 
with  life,  as  you  know,  and  this  evening,  feeling  more 
than  ever  out  of  conceit  with  it,  my  steps  led  naturally 
to  you  for  exhortation  and  healthy  reprimand." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  Nora  said,  kindly,  and  her  heart 
went  out  to  him  in  his  trouble.  He  looked  frail  and 
suffering,  and  wore  an  ashen  look,  peculiar  to  those 
stricken  by  a  shocking  tragedy. 

"There  is  nothing  much  to  tell,"  he  said,  quietly. 
11  He  was  a  successful  man,  a  solicitor,  in  good  health, 
and  with  no  reason  for  courting  death,  but  he  killed  him- 
self deliberately  about  an  hour  before  I  and  another  friend 
had  an  appointment  with  him  in  his  rooms.  We  found 
him  there.  I  shall  miss  him  greatly.  I  talk  at  random 
sometimes  about  the  vanity  of  love  and  friendship  ;  but 
words  can  be  tossed  so  easily  off  the  lips,  whilst  feelings 
remain  deep  down  in  the  heart.  I  was  very  much  at- 
tached to  him,  and  shall  find  it  difficult  to  face  the  lone- 
liness which  would  seem  to  be  my  peculiar  portion. 
Looking  through  my  journal,  a  record  of  my  own 
thoughts,  intended  for  no  eyes  but  mine,  I  find  no  single 
word  set  down  that  could  be  distorted  into  a  harsh  criti- 
cism of  him,  much  less  an  unsympathetic  one,  and  still 
less  an  expression  of  distrust.  And  that  is  saying  a  good 
deal  —  even  of  a  friend." 

Nothing  could  have  been  kinder  than  the  gentle  way 
in  which  she  took  care  of  him.  She  was  touched  that  he 
should  have  cared  to  come  to  her  in  his  trouble,  and 
grieved  to  see  him  looking  so  forlorn  and  shaken.  She 
felt  glad  that  he  had  found  his  way  to  her  home,  and 
was  sitting  in  the  cosy  living-room,  amongst  the  books 

172 


Out  of  Harmony 

and  musical  instruments  and  pictures  of  poets  and  musi- 
cians. He  glanced  around,  and  appeared  to  take  com- 
fort from  his  surroundings.  He  warmed  his  hands  by 
the  fireside,  shook  his  head  when  Nora  suggested  supper; 
but  at  last,  persuaded  by  her,  drank  of  the  tea  which 
she  prepared,  and  even  managed  to  eat  a  little  food. 
The  strained  expression  on  his  face  relaxed  somewhat,  a 
sure  sign  that  greater  ease  of  mind  and  spirit  was  stealing 
over  him.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuineness  of 
his  trouble,  and  of  his  gratitude  to  Nora  for  her  sym- 
pathy. He  sat  there,  pathetic  in  his  trustfulness,  like 
some  sick  child  who  knows  that  he  is  being  well  looked 
after.  So  the  evening  passed,  Nora  trying  to  divert  his 
thoughts,  and  he  listening  and  joining  in  at  times,  and 
speaking  more  frankly  about  himself  than  he  had  ever 
done  before,  and  showing  a  simple  and  even  lovable  side 
of  his  nature.  At  last  Mr  Penhurst  came  home,  brim- 
ming over  with  excitement  about  "  Human  Origins." 
When  he  saw  Theodore  Bevan  installed  in  an  easy-chair 
by  the  fireside,  he  stood  still  for  a  moment  and  turned  to 
Nora,  as  though  for  an  explanation.  But  he  was  too 
genuinely  kind  to  make  her  or  any  one  uncomfortable ; 
and  so,  with  sufficient  politeness,  he  said  good  evening 
to  the  unwelcome  visitor,  talked  about  the  lecture,  and 
wondered  inwardly  when  on  earth  the  little  confounded 
centipede  intended  to  take  himself  off.  It  was  nearly 
twelve  o'clock  when  Bevan  rose  to  go,  and  even  then  it 
seemed  an  effort  to  him  to  leave  Nora's  home  and 
presence. 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,"  he  said,  looking 
straight  at  her.  "  I  came  here  quite  broken.  You 
have  restored  me." 

Mr  Penhurst  saw  him  to  the  door,  gave  him  a  graci- 
ous enough  "  good  night "  and  an  inward  kick  and 

173 


The  Fowler 

returned  to   the  room,  where  he   found   Nora    leaning 

'  O 

against  the  mantelpiece. 

"Nora,"  he  said,  roughly,  "now  I  understand  why 
you  did  not  care  to  come  to  the  lecture.  You  expected 
this  fellow,  and  stayed  at  home  for  him." 

Nora  flushed  crimson  with  anger  at  the  injustice  of 
the  accusation. 

"  I  did  not  expect  him  at  all,"  she  said,  warmly.  "  I 
simply  did  not  wish  to  go  to  that  lecture.  One  cannot 
always  feel  inclined  for  c  Human  Origins.'  And  as  for 
hiding  anything  from  you,  have  we  ever  been  on  those 
terms  ?  You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  should  have 
told  you." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  sort  now,"  he  said, 
his  anger  rising.  "  You  are  so  changed." 

"  You've  no  right  to  say  that,"  Nora  answered, 
angrily.  "  Mr  Bevan  came  here  of  his  own  accord,  or 
else  I  should  have  told  you  beforehand.  I'm  not  a 
kitchen-maid,  that  I  desire  to  do  things  surreptitiously. 
He  came  here  uninvited,  and  I  am  very  glad  he  did 
come.  He  is  in  great  trouble  about  the  suicide  of  his 
friend,  and  I  am  happy  to  have  been  able  to  comfort 
him." 

"  A  pity  it  is  not  his  own  suicide,"  Roger  Penhurst 
flung  out.  "  I  should  be  delighted  to  hear  of  that." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  father,"  Nora 
said  hotly.  "  The  man  has  done  you  no  harm." 

"  Oh,"  said  Roger  Penhurst,  now  quite  out  of  temper, 
"  don't  you  take  up  that  tone  of  superiority  with  me,  for 
I'm  damned  if  I'll  stand  it.  I  tell  you  that  man  is  de- 
testable to  me,  and  if  you  are  going  to  have  him  here, 
you  must  choose  between  me  and  him.  I  shall  not 
trouble  myself  to  speak  of  this  again,  and  you  must  just 
please  yourself.  I  don't  care." 

174 


Out  of  Harmony 

He  snatched  up  his  book  and  slippers,  and  went  quickly 
out  of  the  room  and  upstairs  into  his  study.  Nora  heard 
him  bang  his  door.  Then  all  was  still.  Ten  minutes 
afterwards  her  father's  door  was  opened,  and  she  heard 
the  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  stairs.  She  did  not 
move  an  inch ;  her  heart  did  not  give  one  bound,  as  on 
other  occasions  when  she  and  he  had  had  some  quarrel, 
and  were  only  too  grateful  to  hasten  back  to  the  old 
tenderness. 

He  came  into  the  room,  but  she  did  not  come  forward 
to  meet  him. 

"  Nora,  my  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  rest  without  say- 
ing that  I  am  very  sorry  for  having  been  so  crusty.  Of 
course  I  believe  that  you  did  not  ask  him  here  —  of 
course  I  believe  your  word.  Why,  there  never  has 
been  any  back-handedness  between  us.  It  was  just  my 
temper,  nothing  more.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  dis- 
like that  man.  I'll  try  all  over  again.  I'll  —  " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  Nora's  silence  and  cold  un- 
responsiveness  of  manner  chilled  him. 

"  Well,  good  night,  dear,"  he  said,  sadly,  and  she  let 
him  go  without  a  word. 


I7S 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   IV 

WORDS    OF    WARNING 

ONE  day  in  the  middle  of  January,  Nora  went  down  to 
the  Eagle  Club,  where  she  had  arranged  to  meet  some 
of  her  friends.  They  thought  that  she  looked  a  little 
out  of  health,  and  that  she  seemed  listless.  She  was,  in 
fact,  torn  to  pieces  by  her  conflicting  feelings  about  the 
two  men  who  had  come  almost  simultaneously  into  her 
life. .  They  both  visited  her,  but  they  had  never  yet  met 
at  her  house.  Her  father  continued  to  dislike  Mr 
Bevan,  and  to  resent  his  presence,  and  to  be  more  and 
more  drawn  towards  the  historian.  Nora  did  not  won- 
der at  that  and  wished  that  her  own  mind  was  not  so 
full  of  strife.  Engrossed  with  these  thoughts  which 
seldom  left  her,  she  sat  almost  silent  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  room,  and  only  woke  up  to  some  degree  of  bright- 
ness, when  the  President  came  up  to  her  and  began  to 
tell  her  about  her  travels  in  the  Far  West.  Nora  said 
that  she  had  always  had  the  desire  to  go  out  to  some  dis- 
tant land,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  experience  live  in  some 
unsettled  part  of  the  country,  away  from  the  trammels 
of  culture  and  civilisation. 

Mrs  Carew  smiled. 

"  I  had  three  years  of  that  kind  of  life  in  Texas," 
she  said.  "  And  when  at  last  my  husband  and  I  were 
able  to  break  loose  from  the  trammels  of  a  cattle-ranch, 
we  gladly  came  home  to  culture  and  civilisation.  You 
would  do  the  same  too.  For  a  permanency  it  must 
be  death  to  any  one  who  has  known  another  kind  of 

176 


Words  of  Warning 

existence,  but  for  a  time  I  think  it  is  invaluable.  I 
returned  to  England  with  a  better  understanding  of  all 
that  the  old  country  has  to  offer  ;  and  my  powers  of 
appreciation  have  grown  stronger  ever  since.  If  you 
are  needing  a  thorough  change  and  rest,  go  there. 
There  is  a  great  attraction  about  the  life.  It  gives  you 
a  sense  of  expanse  and  freedom  which  you  never  quite 
lose.  It  makes  everything  in  Nature,  Art,  Letters,  and 
Life  stronger  and  broader  for  you." 

She  was  then  called  away  from  Nora,  much  to  the 
latter's  disappointment.  She  had  an  intense  admiration 
for  the  President,  harbouring  for  her  that  peculiar  kind 
of  reverent  affection  which  can  only  be  given  by  a  woman 
to  a  woman,  and  is  a  lovely  thing — "  a  joy  for  ever." 

She  was  still  thinking  of  her  when  another,  friend, 
Miss  Sandhurst,  brought  a  Miss  Margaret  Carson,  who 
wanted  to  be  introduced  to  her. 

Nora  started  at  the  name.  She  remembered  that 
Nurse  Isabel  had  mentioned  it  to  her  in  connection 
with  Theodore  Bevan,  and  she  was  at  once  filled  with 
an  unaccountable  irritation  which  she  could  scarcely 
conceal.  But  Madge  Carson  was  too  much  in  earnest 
to  mind  that. 

"  Miss  Penhurst,"  she  said,  eagerly,  "  I  want  so  very 
much  to  speak  with  you.  I  have  something  which  I 
must  say  to  you.  I  will  come  to  your  house  if  you 
will  allow  me,  or  else  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would 
come  to  my  rooms,  which  are  within  a  stone's  throw 
of  the  British  Museum." 

Nora  had  drawn  herself  up  somewhat  coldly. 

"  I  have  not  said  whether  or  not  I  care  to  hear  what 
you  are  so  desirous  of  telling  me,  Miss  Carson,"  she 
answered.  "  You  should  at  least  say  why  you  wish  to 
see  me  so  particularly." 

12  177 


The  Fowler 

u  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  Mr  Theodore  Bevan," 
Madge  Carson  said. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  care  to  hear,"  Nora  replied.  "  You 
are  quite  a  stranger  to  me,  and  I  do  not  see  how  any 
concerns  of  yours  can  possibly  interest  me." 

Madge  Carson  flushed  crimson :  she  was  a  proud 
little  lady. 

"  I  am  fully  aware  that  I  sacrifice  my  own  dignity 
in  asking  you  to  grant  me  an  interview  against  your 
own  inclination,  Miss  Penhurst,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not 
agreeable  to  put  oneself  in  the  position  of  being  snubbed, 
and  I  should  not  subject  myself  to  the  risk  of  such 
unpleasantness,  but  that  I  am  constrained  by  my  own 
strong  feelings.  So  I  still  ask  you  to  give  me  half  an 
hour  of  your  time  for  private  talk." 

Nora  looked  at  her,  noticed  the  flush  of  annoyance 
on  her  face,  and  the  quiet  earnestness  of  her  manner, 
and  the  keenness  of  her  brown  eyes.  They  were  sad 
eyes,  too,  and  brave  ones. 

"  I  am  in  your  neighbourhood  to-morrow  afternoon, 
Miss  Carson,"  she  said,  in  a  softened  tone  of  voice, 
"  and  will  be  with  you  about  four  o'clock.  I  am  sorry 
I  was  so  ungracious." 

The  next  afternoon,  being  Saturday,  she  worked  in 
the  reading-room  of  the  British  Museum,  talked  with 
her  old  Professor,  but  was  interrupted  by  Theodore 
Bevan,  whom  she  found  waiting  to  take  her  to  lunch. 
He  was  constantly  in  attendance  on  her  now,  both  at 
home  and  in  town.  She  was  not  quite  sure  whether 
she  was  not  irritated  by  such  close  companionship, 
which  did  not  leave  her  free  for  her  old  habits 
and  inclinations.  Once  or  twice  she  thought  of  speak- 
ing to  him  about  it,  but  her  heart  failed  her  when  she 
came  to  the  point.  To-day,  however,  she  made  a  deter- 

178 


Words  of  Warning 

mined  effort  for  freedom,  and  knocked  at  Margaret  Car- 
son's rooms  punctually  at  four  o'clock.  Miss  Carson 
opened  the  door  for  her,  and  welcomed  her  with  a  grave 
smile.  Nora  glanced  around  at  the  bookbinding  tools, 
the  sewing-bench  and  plough  and  press,  the  designs  for 
book-covers  hung  about  everywhere,  and  a  littered  table 
where  a  beautifully-bound  book  lay,  fresh  from  the 
artist's  hands. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Carson,"  Nora  said,  enthusiastically, "  what 
delightful  work  !  May  I  touch  this  ?  " 

Margaret  Carson  put  the  delicate  volume  in  her  hands, 
and  stood  by,  proud  as  any  true  worker  should  be  of 
true  appreciation. 

"  I  am  going  to  bind  a  copy  of  this  book  for  Mrs 
Carew's  birthday,"  she  said,  after  a  pause.  "  Do  you 
know  it  ?  I  was  looking  at  it  again  to-day,  and  a  pas- 
sage which  I  have  marked  there,  struck  me  with  redoubled 
force." 

"  c  We  prate  eloquently  enough,' "  she  read  aloud, 
u  '  of  the  advantage  and  advisability  of  frankness  in  our 
intercourse  with  other  people.  We  are  never  tired  of 
pointing  out  that  true  frankness,  not  necessarily  associated 
with  boorishness,  simplifies  life  to  an  astonishing  extent. 
But  even  those  of  us  who  have  the  courage  to  be  frank 
with  other  people,  are  seldom  plucky  enough  to  be  frank 
with  ourselves.  We  do  not  care  to  call  things  by  their 
proper  names ;  and  our  own  mistakes,  failings,  stubborn- 
nesses, rashnesses,  and  errors  of  judgment  are  christened 
with  some  such  elegant  term  as  "  fortune's  blows."  If 
we  are  cowards,  we  just  pretend  to  ourselves  that  we 
have  shrinking  dispositions.  It  sounds  better.' ''' 

She  stopped,  and  put  the  book  down. 

"  It  is  so  true,"  she  said,  turning  to  Nora.  "  All  this 
morning  I  have  been  a  positive  coward  about  this  inter- 

179 


The  Fowler 

view  with  you  which  I  sought  of  my  own  free  will,  and 
I  have  consoled  myself  by  thinking  of  my  c  shrinking 
disposition.'  Then  I  happened  to  take  up  that  book. 
The  writer  of  it  always  helps  me.  I  always  think  of 
him  with  a  peculiar  kind  of  personal  gratitude.  I  read 
his  book  during  a  time  of  great  trouble,  when  I  had  lost 
all  my  bearings —  and  this  is  the  subject  about  which  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you,  Miss  Penhurst." 

She  was  leaning  against  her  work-table,  fiddling  with 
one  of  her  tools,  and  Nora  was  resting  in  the  arm-chair, 
playing  with  her  chain.  Her  stately  presence  and  fri- 
gidity of  manner  made  the  little  bookbinder  nervous,  but 
she  was  determined  not  to  shrink  from  the  task  which 
she  had  undertaken. 

"  Miss  Penhurst,"  she  said,  taking  the  plunge,  after  a 
moment's  awkward  silence,  during  which  Nora  did  not 
help  her,  "  I  have  nothing  to  gain  by  speaking  to  you 
about  Theodore  Bevan.  It  is  not  that  I  wish  to  vent 
my  spleen,  or  satisfy  any  absurd  desire  for  revenge  on  a 
man  who  really  spoilt  four  or  five  years  of  what  ought  to 
have  been  the  brightest  time  of  my  life.  All  the  bom- 
bastic part  of  my  feelings  has  passed  away,  but  a  sincere 
conviction  remains  that  it  is  my  duty  to  warn  others 
against  him." 

"  It  is  very  disinterested  of  you,  I  am  sure,"  Nora  said, 
sarcastically. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  Margaret  Carson  said  ;  "  especially  when 
I  feel  that  it  won't  be  of  the  slightest  use.  But  I  can't 
help  that.  I  only  know  that  I  would  penetrate  even  into 
palaces  to  tell  my  story.  And,"  she  added,  a  little  quaintly, 
"I  don't  suppose  I  should  feel  any  less  awkward  there 
than  here,  for  you  do  not  help  me  out." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can,"  Nora  answered ;  but  her 
voice  sounded  kinder,  and  Margaret  Carson  took  heart 

180 


Words  of  Warning 

and  gathered  herself  together.  There  was  nothing 
vicious  nor  exaggerated  in  her  relation  of  the  simple 
story  which  she  told.  She  was  singularly  frank,  blam- 
ing herself  for  her  want  of  ordinary  perception,  and  her 
stubbornness,  and  her  flattered  vanity.  She  said  that 
Theodore  Bevan  came  into  her  life  at  a  time  when  she 
had  just  finished  her  college-career,  and  was  pausing 
before  taking  up  any  definite  active  work,  often  a  very 
difficult  time  for  those  who  are  not  obliged  by  circum- 
stances to  begin  earning  money  at  once.  She  had  all 
her  days  free  to  do  whatever  she  chose,  and  the  result 
was  that  she  felt  too  dull  to  do  anything.  Then  Theo- 
dore Bevan  and  she  became  acquainted,  and  he  was 
kind  in  lending  her  books  and  interesting  her  in  the 
current  literature  of  the  day,  of  which  she  knew  noth- 
ing. She  said  that  at  first  she  never  really  liked  him, 
and  that  he  always  produced  in  her  a  feeling  of  distress 
and  anxiety,  and  that  she  was  always  conscious  that  his 
influence  was  not  a  healthy  one.  Certainly,  from  the 
moment  she  began  to  be  a  great  deal  with  him,  her 
way  of  looking  at  life  changed  ;  her  healthy  happiness 
passed  from  her,  her  belief  in  people's  single-hearted- 
ness weakened,  and  a  mean-spirited,  critical  cynicism, 
at  which  she  now  laughed,  took  the  place  of  her  own 
natural  delight  in  whatever  was  grand  and  great.  She 
tried  to  free  herself  from  him,  but  he  seemed  to  hold  her 
as  though  in  a  vice,  and  as  time  went  on,  she  made 
no  more  struggles  to  break  loose  from  him :  she  did 
not  wish  to  break  loose,  for  he  chained  her  by  ap- 
pealing silently  to  her  sympathy  and  by  flattering  her 
vanity.  He  deplored  his  own  bitterness  of  character,  but 
told  her  repeatedly  that  since  he  had  learnt  to  know  her, 
he  took  a  gentler  view  of  every  one  and  everything. 
"  And  I  was  fool  enough  to  believe  that  I  was  influ- 
181 


The  Fowler 

encing  him,"  she  said.  "  I  remember  some  mysterious 
words  of  his  which  impressed  me  deeply  :  l  Every  time  1 
leave  you,  the  same  words  always  rise  to  my  lips,  and  when 
alone  I  speak  them  aloud' ': 

Nora  started.     She  recognised  those  words. 

"  I  used,  of  course,  to  think  he  uttered  some  kind  of 
benediction  for  my  chastening  influence,"  Madge  Carson 
continued ;  "  but  I  suppose  what  he  really  said  was, 
4  Little  fool  —  I'm  taming  you  well.'  " 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  seemed  wrapt  in  her  own 
thoughts. 

"  That  was  what  he  cared  for  most  in  life,"  she  went 
on  —  "to  tame  people,  to  take  firm  hold  of  their  minds, 
analyse  them,  find  out  their  weaknesses,  distort  their 
virtues,  and  leave  their  mental  and  moral  individuality 
in  ruins.  He  did  not  trouble  himself  about  the  physical. 
That  was  not  his  bent.  But  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  a  man  like  Theodore  Bevan,  who  aims  de- 
liberately at  ruining  a  woman's  mind,  and  corroding  it 
with  his  poison,  is  a  greater  enemy  to  society  than  that 
notoriously  bad  fellow,  Gerald  Hamilton,  who  was 
turned  out  of  our  club  a  few  weeks  ago.  One  knows 
pretty  well  where  one  is  drifting  with  a  man  of  Hamilton's 
type,  but  one  loses  all  one's  bearings  with  the  Theodore 
Bevans  of  the  world.  I  know  it  has  taken  me  three  or 
four  years  to  find  them  again  —  and  hard  years  too." 

"  I  think  that  you  exaggerate  Mr  Bevan's  peculiari- 
ties," Nora  said.  "  You  probably  did  not  read  him 
aright.  He  is  certainly  eccentric,  and  not  every  one 
would  be  likely  to  understand  him." 

Madge  Carson  laughed. 

"  Understand  him  !  "  she  said.  "  And  who  would  be 
likely  to  understand  him  ?  " 

u  1  do,"  answered  Nora. 

182 


Words  of  Warning 

"  Then  I  congratulate  you,"  Madge  Carson  replied, 
ironically.  "  I  was  not  so  lucky.  I  saw  Theodore 
Bevan  nearly  every  day  for  about  two  years,  and  never 
learnt  to  read  him  aright." 

"  That  is  not  unusual,"  said  Nora-  "  People  have 
been  known  to  live  fifty  years  side  by  side,  and  to  have 
died  strangers  to  each  other.  It  is  only  the  few  who 
understand." 

But  Madge  Carson  did  not  heed  her. 

She  took  up  a  lovely  little  old  volume,  looked  at  it 
half  unconsciously,  and  held  it  in  her  hands. 

"  In  fact,"  she  continued,  more  to  herself  than  to 
Nora,  "  for  the  last  year  I  saw  no  one  else  but  him. 
He  arranged  that.  He  weaned  me  away  from  all  my 
old  friends  and  my  old  pleasures,  and  brought  discord 
between  me  and  my  dear  old  aunt,  who  could  not  bear 
the  sight  of  him.  He  made  me  behave  shamefully  to  her. 
He  and  I  together  spoilt  the  peace  and  comfort  of  the 
last  year  of  her  life.  I  realised  that  when  it  was  too  late. 
I  lost  two  or  three  of  my  best  friends  through  him. 
Every  one  except  me  seemed  to  dislike  and  distrust  him. 
And  even  I  had  my  changing  moods  about  him;  but 
whenever  I  doubted  him  the  most,  and  wished  to  be  free 
of  him,  and  take  a  long  breath  of  fresh  air,  and  feel 
my  nature  as  well  as  my  lungs  expand  once  more,  he 
invariably  arrived  at  the  right  moment,  as  though  by 
divination,  and  swept  away  all  traces  of  any  unfavour- 
able feeling  towards  him.  I  always  noticed  that  about 
him.  It  was  most  remarkable." 

Nora  looked  up  at  the  little  figure  standing  before  her. 

"  I  have  noticed  that  too,"  she  said,  hastily. 

"  Ah,"  said  Madge  Carson,  with  quiet  triumph,  "  I 
am  glad  to  hear  it." 

Nora  bit  her  lip.  She  was  vexed  with  herself  for 
'83 


The  Fowler 

having  said  that  much,  and  she  betrayed  it  in  her  manner 
as  she  rose  to  go.  She  had  not  intended  to  show  that 
she  had  been  impressed  with  anything  which  Madge 
Carson  had  said ;  and  yet  one  or  two  of  the  remarks 
struck  home.  She  now  drew  herself  together  and  turned 
stiffly  to  Madge  Carson. 

"I  am  sure  you  have  meant  to  do  a  kind  action  in 
speaking  so  openly  to  me,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very  sorry 
for  your  unfortunate  experience,  and  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you  for  wishing  to  save  me  from  a  similar  one.  I 
shall,  of  course,  tell  Mr  Bevan  that  I  have  seen  you, 
for  it  is  only  fair  that  he  should  know  that  you  have 
given  me  your  personal  impressions  of  him.  I  am 
quite  sure  you  have  drawn  what  you  think  to  be  a 
truthful  picture  of  him.  But,  of  course,  everything 
depends  on  the  point  of  view.  I  shall  be  seeing  him 
to-morrow,  or  perhaps  to-night.  Shall  I  give  any  mes- 
sage from  you  ?  Have  you  anything  you  wish  to  say  to 
him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  that  I  am  glad  he  has  found  some  one  to 
understand  him,"  Madge  Carson  said,  spitefully.  "  It 
must  be  such  a  comfort." 


184 


Nurse  Isabel  Takes  an  Outing 


CHAPTER   V 

NURSE    ISABEL    TAKES    AN    OUTING 

NURSE  ISABEL,  who  had  been  away  on  the  Continent  for 
several  weeks,  returned  to  town  about  the  middle  of 
March,  and  one  day,  punctually  at  the  hour  of  two,  she 
entered  Burlington  House  and  found  Brian  Uppingham 
waiting  for  her.  He  had  written  to  suggest  a  meeting, 
saying  that  although,  according  to  her  verdict,  he  was  not 
particularly  interesting,  yet,  judged  by  the  same  infallible 
authority,  he  was  probably  one  degree  less  dull  than  her 
present  patient,  and  therefore  an  hour  or  two  of  his  com- 
pany might  be  beneficial  to  her  well-known  depression. 

"  Goodness  !  "  she  said,  when  she  saw  him,  "  you  do 
look  well.  I  am  so  glad." 

"  I  got  better  directly  you  left  me,"  he  answered. 
"  My  improvement  was  almost  as  miraculous  as  though 
I  had  taken  a  patent  medicine  and  recovered  from  a  life- 
long illness  in  about  half  a  minute." 

Nurse  Isabel  laughed. 

"  Well,  you  are  grateful !  "  she  said.  "  But  at  your 
worst  you  were  never  as  troublesome  as  my  famous  nerve- 
specialist.  However,  he  will  soon  be  out  of  my  hands. 
I  can  imagine  him  sitting  in  his  consulting-room,  in  the 
odour  of  medical  sanctity,  surrounded  by  his  quiet-looking 
books  and  papers,  and  saying  in  an  irritatingly  measured 
tone  of  voice  to  some  overwrought  visitor :  c  My  dear 
sir,  we  have  to  learn  to  control  ourselves  —  to  use  mod- 
eration in  everything.  If  we  stretch  the  string  beyond 
its  power  of  tension,  it  breaks/  He  has  not  been  talk- 

'85 


The  Fowler 

ing  in  that  well-balanced  way  lately,  I  can  tell  you,  and 
he  has  given  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble  about  his  food. 
Also,  it  has  been  a  considerable  strain  on  me  to  behave 
like  a  saint  the  whole  time,  and  not  show  any  signs  of 
impatience  and  boredom." 

"  Yes,  I  expect  it  has,"  Brian  said ;  "  and  it  has  told 
on  you.  And  I  suppose  you  have  not  been  able  to  wear 
your  tailor-made  gown  fastened  at  the  back  with  twenty- 
four  obstinate  little  buttons  ?  " 

"  That  is  reserved  for  lay  patients,"  Nurse  Isabel  said. 
"  It  would  not  be  suitable  for  the  faculty  !  But  don't  let 
us  talk  about  anything  in  connection  with  my  beautiful 
profession.  I'm  out  of  conceit  with  it." 

"  You  never  could  have  been  in  conceit  with  it,"  he 
answered.  "  You  are  about  as  well  fitted  for  it  as  Aunt 
Rebeccah  Renaldson  at  the  King's  Head." 

"  You  have  an  awful  contempt  for  me,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing, half-heartedly.  "  I  don't  wonder.  I  have  felt  rather 
ridiculous  to  myself  since  you  pointed  out  the  fact  to 
me." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  a  tease  by 
nature,  and  you  do  invite  it." 

"  Yes,  but  the  worst  of  it  is  that  your  remarks  are 
nearly  always  appropriate,"  she  answered.  "  I  suppose 
you  have  what  they  call  a  keen  perception,  whatever  that 
means.  I  was  talking  to  my  mother  about  you  the  other 
day  when  I  went  to  see  her,  just  before  I  undertook  my 
present  inspiring  case,  and  she  thinks  you  are  hard  on 
me.  She  doesn't  think  me  ridiculous.  But  then  she  is 
prejudiced." 

"  And  perhaps  you  have  never  nursed  her,"  suggested 
Brian.  "  That  makes  a  good  deal  of  difference,  you 
know  !  " 

Nurse  Isabel  was  fond  of  pictures,  and  in  her  light 
186 


Nurse  Isabel  Takes  an  Outing 

way  she  quite  enjoyed  seeing  this  Exhibition  of  Old 
Masters.  She  went  from  room  to  room  with  untiring 
energy,  and  finally  sank  on  to  a  sofa. 

There  was  a  "  portrait  of  a  lady  "  immediately  before 
them,  and  it  bore  a  striking  likeness  to  Nora  Penhurst. 
Nurse  Isabel  and  Brian  noticed  the  resemblance  at  once. 

"  You  have  seen  her,  of  course  ? "  Nurse  Isabel 
asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  expect  to  see  her 
this  evening." 

"I  hope  she  has  got  rid  of  that  Mr   Bevan,"  she  said. 

"  I  believe  he  has  visited  her  several  times  since  his 
return  to  town,"  Brian  replied,  with  unconcern. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  show  some  spirit  and  turn  him 
off  the  premises  ?  "  remarked  Nurse  Isabel.  "  If  I  were 
you,  I  would  not  have  that  horrid  little  creature  sneak- 
ing about  in  my  fairyland.  It  is  your  fairyland,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  I  like  to  think  so.  But  that 
does  not  give  me  the  right  to  choose  Miss  Penhurst's 
acquaintances  for  her.  I  should  not  think  much  of  a 
woman  who  would  brook  such  interference  from  a 
stranger." 

"Oh,  what  a  goose  you  are  !  "  she  answered,  tapping 
the  sofa  with  her  catalogue.  "  A  woman  likes  being 
interfered  with  by  the  right  man." 

"  Yes,  but  one  must  first  be  sure  that  one  is  the  right 
man,"  Brian  replied. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  take  a  long  time  to  find 
out,"  said  Nurse  Isabel,  smiling.  "  You  always  were 
slow.  Well,  it  is  not  my  business,  of  course,  but  if  you 
want  any  help  in  sending  that  little  Bevan  flying,  do,  I 
beg  of  you,  ask  me.  Nothing  would  give  me  greater 
pleasure.  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  him  existing  even 

187 


The  Fowler 

on  a  desert  by  himself,  and  I  certainly  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  him  living  anywhere  within  reach  of  any  one 
whom  I  care  for.  I  positively  yearn  to  meet  him  again. 
Our  last  interview  was  such  a  success  from  my  point 
of  view.  It  has  been  quite  a  tonic  to  me  during  these 
last  melancholy  weeks  which  I  have  been  devoting  to 
my  present  patient.  And  that  reminds  me,  that  I  must 
soon  be  getting  back  to  him." 

So  they  left  Burlington  House,  and  took  tea  at  a  Hun- 
garian restaurant.  They  talked  a  great  deal  about  Nora, 
and  Brian  said  that  he  could  not  be  thankful  enough  to 
Nurse  Isabel  for  having  asked  her  up  to  the  Moat 
House. 

"  Oh,  I  must  not  take  any  credit  for  that,"  Nurse 
Isabel  said,  as  she  helped  herself  from  a  fresh  instalment 
of  dainty  cakes.  "  I  was  tired  of  you,  and  wanted  a 
good  rest  myself.  You  had  been  so  terribly  depressing 
that  week,  so  overshadowed  by  the  certainty  that  you 
were  going  to  make  a  complete  failure  of  your  next 
book,  that  I  really  felt  I  could  not  put  up  with  you  any 
more.  And  I  was  delighted  that  Miss  Penhurst  thought 
it  worth  while  to  be  bothered  with  you.  How  dis- 
appointed you  will  be  if  your  new  History-book  does 
make  a  success.  And  what  about  the  novel  ?  That 
will  be  successful  if  you  put  me  into  it.  I  have  always 
thought  that  I  should  make  an  excellent  character  for  a 
novel  —  as  the  suffering,  misunderstood  heroine." 

"  Or  as  the  cheerful,  patient  saint !  "  said  Brian,  smil- 
ing. "  I  am  afraid,  however,  that  I  am  quite  unequal 
to  the  novel,  but  I  am  working  very  hard  at  the  History- 
book.  I  have  had  no  relapses  into  miseries,  and  I  feel 
in  capital  health  and  spirits.  Miss  Penhurst  listens  to 
all  my  outpourings,  and  then  I  hasten  home  and  work 
with  all  my  heart  and  all  my  strength." 

188 


Nurse  Isabel  Takes  an  Outing 

"  Well,  it  suits  you,  evidently,"  Nurse  Isabel  said  ; 
and  then  the  clock  struck  half-past  three,  and  she  rose 
reluctantly,  saying  that  she  must  be  home  in  good  time 
for  the  faculty.  Brian  suggested  that,  on  their  way,  they 
should  buy  a  pair  of  elegant  shoes  to  add  to  the  wonder- 
ful assortment  of  which  he  still  had  a  vivid  recollection. 

"  A  capital  idea  !  "  Nurse  Isabel  said.  "  Shoes  always 
have  an  exhilarating  effect  on  me  ! " 

The  shoes  of  course  swallowed  up  an  unconscionable 
time,  but,  as  the  historian  said,  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  get  the  right  thing,  in  order  to  compensate 
her  for  the  mortification  of  being  deprived  temporarily 
of  the  use  of  the  tailor-made  gown  with  the  twenty- 
four  buttons,  and  in  order  to  give  the  famous  nerve 
specialist  a  chance  of  enjoying  a  dose  of  her  good  spirits. 
After  this  important  purchase,  he  hailed  a  hansom  and 
took  her  to  her  destination. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said.  "  How  good  you  have  been  to 
me.  I  have  so  enjoyed  myself.  I  feel  quite  braced  up 
for  my  saintlike  duties." 

Then  she  added  mischievously : 

"  And  how  kind  of  you  to  spare  the  time  from  that 
wonderful  History-book.  Now  do  make  haste  to  find 
out  whether  you  are  the  right  man ;  and  don't  forget 
that  I  am  at  your  service  when  the  time  comes  for  send- 
ing that  little  Bevan  flying  !  " 

She  rang  the  bell  and  passed  upstairs  to  her  room, 
with  a  smile  on  her  face  and  a  smile  in  her  heart. 
She  had  had  many  outings  with  her  men  friends,  but 
they  were  not  people  of  Brian  Uppingham's  type,  and 
the  tone  of  the  excursions  had  been  different  from  this 
afternoon's  pleasure.  She  recognised  that. 

"  It  makes  one  think  better  of  oneself,"  she  thought, 
41  when  a  man  like  that  goes  out  of  his  way  and  gives  up 

189 


The  Fowler 

his  time  to  be  kind.      Nora  Penhurst  will  be  an  idiot  if 
she  refuses  his  love.     I  wish  ..." 

She  paused  in  the  midst  of  trying  on  her  new  shoes, 
and  sat  still  for  a  moment,  a  sad  wistful  little  look  com- 
ing into  her  eyes. 


190 


The  Net  Tightens 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    NET    TIGHTENS 

NORA  tried  to  forget  her  interview  with  Madge  Carson, 
but  the  little  bookbinder's  words  had  an  unpleasant 
way  of  echoing  in  her  ears.  And  one  day,  when  she 
was  out  in  town  with  Theodore  Bevan,  she  felt  impelled 
to  speak  to  him.  She  was  so  nervous  about  it  that  her 
opening  words  were  abrupt. 

"  I  have  been  warned  against  you,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  nervous  laugh. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  I  can  quite  believe  that. 
I  am  not  generally  liked." 

"  A  little  lady  called  Madge  Carson  has  warned  me," 
continued  Nora.  "  She  appears  to  have  a  crusade 
against  you." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  that." 

Then  he  continued  : 

"  Madge  Carson  misunderstood  me.  She  was  a 
charming  girl,  but  with  a  limited  comprehension.  I 
never  claimed  to  be  any  better  than  the  average  man. 
She  chose  to  consider  me  an  exceptionally  superior  speci- 
men of  my  elevated  sex.  But  one  day  she  found  out 
her  mistake,  and  having  no  sense  of  proportion,  and  no 
knowledge  of  moral  geography,  she  at  once  relegated  me 
to  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  where  she  probably  desires  to 
keep  me.  Perfectly  legitimate  from  her  point  of  view. 
I  have  nothing  against  her,  except  her  terrible  ignorance 
of  geography,  and  her  lamentable  lack  of  the  sense  of 
proportion.  When  I  remembered  these  deficiencies,  I 

191 


The  Fowler 

became  more  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  her  friendship. 
But  it  took  time.  Still,  I  think  I  may  say  that  my 
wounds  are  now  healed.  They  were  grievous  ones." 

Nora  was  so  amazed  at  the  manner  in  which  he 
turned  the  tables  on  Madge  Carson,  that  she  found 
no  words  at  her  command. 

"  Also,"  continued  Bevan,  "  a  man  has  a  perfect  right 
to  lift  himself  out  of  the  pit  to  which  he  may  have  been 
unwittingly  relegated.  I  claim  that  right,  and  I  have 
passed  on  my  way.  I  don't  blame  that  little  lady,  nor 
any  one  with  a  limited  comprehension.  But  if  it  had 
been  you,  I  should  have  blamed  you  bitterly." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Nora  was  thinking  that 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  justice  in  what  he  said ;  and 
his  last  sentence  took  the  effect  on  her  that  had  been 
intended. 

"  I  thought  it  only  fair  to  mention  the  matter  to 
you,"  she  said.  "  I  listened  to  Miss  Carson's  story  and 
complaints,  and  gathered  that  you  had  tried  to  influence 
her  mind  unhealthily,  and  separate  her  from  her  friends." 

"  If  she  felt  that,"  he  said,  "  it  was  right  for  her  to 
put  me  out  of  her  life.  The  only  wonder  is  that  she 
hesitated  so  long.  If  I  felt  that  you  were  influencing 
me  badly,  do  you  suppose  I  should  pause  for  one 
moment  before  dismissing  you  from  my  life  ?  And 
take  your  own  instance  —  why,  you  would  never  suffer 
any  one  to  exercise  an  undue  sway  over  your  mind  and 
character.  You,  like  myself,  would  not  hesitate." 

"  Perhaps  she  did  not  realise  it  at  first,"  Nora  said, 
half  dreamily. 

Then  she  added  : 

"  Miss  Carson  sought  this  interview  of  her  own  free 
will,  and  I  am  afraid  it  was  not  a  very  satisfactory  one 
from  her  point  of  view." 

192 


The  Net  Tightens 

"  It  could  not  possibly  have  been  satisfactory  to  her," 
he  said,  with  quiet  confidence.  "  You  are  too  just  to 
be  disturbed  by  a  one-sided  representation  of  that  kind. 
I  am  not  much  of  a  flatterer,  as  you  know,  but  I  have 
always  considered  that,  unlike  most  of  your  sex,  you 
were  endowed  with  a  fine  sense  of  justice.  So  I  can 
well  understand  that  the  little  crusader  went  on  her  way 
defeated^  Naturally  enough,  she  has  left  doubts  in  your 
mind.  But  they  will  pass." 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  his  curious  thin  smile,  and 
she  smiled  uneasily  in  return.  She  was  uneasy.  The 
mere  fact  that  he  took  her  allegiance  to  him  as  a  matter 
of  course,  troubled  rather  than  gratified  her.  Why 
should  he  be  so  sure  of  her  ?  What  had  she  done  to 
make  him  feel  that  he  could  count  on  her  ?  Where  was 
that  freedom  of  individuality  on  which  he  laid  such  stress 
for  himself  and  herself  and  every  one  ?  And  her  sense 
of  justice  —  how  did  that  come  in  ?  Why  should  he  as- 
sume that  she  desired  to  be  just  to  him  ?  All  these 
thoughts  rushed  through  her  mind,  and  she  would  have 
given  worlds  to  have  found  utterance  for  them.  Yes, 
she  would  fain  have  told  him,  that  some  of  the  things 
which  Madge  Carson  said,  had  struck  home  to  her, 
though  she  pretended  to  ignore  them.  But  her  tongue 
seemed  paralysed  just  at  the  moment  when  her  mind 
was  alert ;  and  the  opportunity  slipped  by. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  she  has  left  doubts  in  your 
mind.  But  they  will  pass.  If  I  did  not  feel  sure  of 
that,  I  could  not  now  be  speaking  to  you  so  calmly. 
For  I  know  and  have  known  of  no  one  throughout  my 
barren  life  whose  good  opinion  I  value  more  than  I  do 
yours.  I  cannot  and  will  not  do  without  it.  Compan- 
ionship with  you  is  making  me  look  at  life  with  different 
eyes.  I  have  found  myself  lately  forgetting  to  analyse 
13  193 


The  Fowler 

people's  motives  and  dissect  their  characters.  I  think 
of  you  with  intense  gratitude,  for  it  is  your  work." 

He  paused,  and  then  went  on  : 

"  When  the  strong  fresh  wind  sweeps  over  us  on  the 
downs,  we  feel  strengthened,  purified,  sweetened.  You 
are  to  me  that  strong  fresh  wind." 

They  had  been  strolling  through  Hyde  Park,  and  they 
now  found  themselves  at  the  Marble  Arch.  Theodore 
Bevan  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  I  have  just  time  to  keep  an  appointment,"  he  said, 
hurriedly.  He  took  his  leave,  hailing  a  passing  omnibus, 
and  was  gone  almost  before  Nora  realised  that  he  was 
no  longer  walking  by  her  side.  She  gave  a  long  sigh. 
Was  it  of  relief  or  regret  ?  She  scarcely  knew  ;  but 
when  she  reached  home,  Madge  Carson  had  retreated 
into  the  background  of  her  thoughts. 

After  this,  Nora  and  Bevan  were  constantly  together. 
He  came  to  fetch  her  from  her  classes.  Sometimes  he 
met  her  at  the  station,  and  walked  with  her  to  her  various 
destinations.  Whenever  she  came  out  of  the  Museum 
reading-room,  she  would  find  that  eccentric  little  figure 
waiting  in  the  vestibule.  On  one  occasion  she  dis- 
covered him  occupying  the  seat  next  to  her  usual  place 
in  the  reading-room.  Her  old  friends  seemed  shy  of  her 
now.  They  had  been  accustomed  to  have  her  to  them- 
selves, and  did  not  care  to  share  her  with  this  unaccount- 
able little  stranger.  At  first  they  tried  to  ignore  and 
snub  him.  But  they  all  found,  when  comparing  notes, 
that  Theodore  Bevan  could  be  neither  ignored  nor 
snubbed  nor  dismissed.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  he  who 
ignored  them.  He  never  seemed  to  be  aware  of  their 
bodily  presence  or  their  mental  atmosphere.  It  was  not 
that  he  recognised  them  as  being  in  his  company  and  put 
his  foot  on  them ;  it  was  that  he  appeared  always  to  re- 

194 


The  Net  Tightens 

main  insensible  of  them.  They  were  all  irritated  against 
him,  and  gradually  left  off  speaking  to  Nora  when  he 
was  present.  The  Danish  professor  was  the  most  per- 
sistent ;  but  he  too  gave  in  at  last.  One  day,  however, 
when  Nora  was  alone,  he  came  up  in  his  usual  genial 
fashion,  and  they  had  some  pleasant  talk  together. 
These  two  had  had  many  agreeable  hours  of  companion- 
ship, and  Nora  felt  renovated  in  speaking  to  him  again. 
He  was  always  discovering  some  new  genius  who  proved 
to  be  no  genius  at  all. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  to-day,  "  I  have  at  last  found  the  poet 
of  the  century  —  splendid  —  magnificent  !  " 

"  And  what  have  you  done  with  the  other  glorious 
poet  of  the  century  ?  "  asked  Nora,  laughing.  "  Have 
you  buried  him  already  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  his  grey  eye  twinkling,  "  you  laugh 
at  your  old  Professor.  Very  good.  But  you  see,  my 
fine  young  miss,  genius  is  not  so  large  a  lump  as  it  was. 
Many  people  nibble,  nibble ;  and  a  little  of  the  real  lump 
comes  off,  and  then  we  think  at  first  it  is  the  whole 
lump.  But  it  isn't.  But  this  poet  —  well,  we  must 
read  him  together.  Come  now.  Ah,  too  late,  sapristi  f 
Here  is  Monsieur,  your  attendant.  I  must  go  at  once. 
Adieu." 

"  But  why  must  you  go,  Professor  ? "  said  Nora, 
almost  pleadingly. 

"  My  sweet  young  miss,"  he  replied,  "  I  could  not 
tell  you  why,  except  that  Monsieur  requires  the  whole 
planet  for  himself.  There  is  no  fighting  over  it.  The 
time  has  not  yet  come  to  fight  for  a  whole  planet. 
Monsieur  would  always  conquer,  for  the  simple  truth 
that  he  is  detestable,  and  people  are  glad  to  go.  Well, 
then,  adieu  for  the  present,  and  we  will  speak  of  my  new 
genius  another  time." 

195 


The  Fowler 

"  Professor  Frimodt,"  Nora  said, "  I  wish  you  would  stay. 
I  assure  you  Mr  Bevan  does  not  mean  to  be  unfriendly. 
He  has  eccentric  ways,  and  an  unprepossessing  manner, 
and  he  suffers  very  much  from  being  misunderstood." 

"  My  sweet  young  lady,"  the  Professor  answered, 
fumbling  at  his  spectacles,  "  I  have  tried  the  experience 
more  often  than  is  good  for  the  stomach.  It  is  not 
agreeable  to  feel  an  iceberg  in  one's  inside.  I  go  now. 
Au  revoir." 

That  was  only  one  of  many  cases  in  which  Nora's 
friends  began  to  fall  away  from  her.  Once  or  twice  she 
had  attempted  to  retain  them ;  and  afterwards  she  let 
them  go.  At  first  they  had  made  laughing  and  teasing 
allusions  to  her  constant  attendant;  but  she,  who  was 
generally  good-tempered  enough  in  her  way,  and  rather 
fond  of  fun  and  banter,  had  drawn  herself  up  stiffly,  and 
intimated  by  her  manner  that  they  had  gone  too  far 
with  her.  So  they  shrugged  their  shoulders,  passed  on 
their  way,  and  pronounced  her  inscrutable.  They  dis- 
cussed her,  of  course,  but  not  uncharitably.  They  spoke 
of  her  as  Una  with  her  little  rat.  But  Bevan  himself 
was  generally  known  as  Miss  Penhurst's  turnkey  :  justly 
enough  too,  for  he  was  certainly  locking  up  her  mind, 
and  depriving  her  of  all  free  play.  Various  complaints 
reached  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  heed  them. 

"  We  never  see  you,"  her  more  intimate  friends  said. 
"  Are  you  never  coming  again  to  the  Debating  Club  ? 
Won't  next  week's  subject  tempt  you  — c  The  Wages  of 
Women  '  ?  " 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

"I'm  rather  tired,"  she  said,  "and  I  think  I  don't 
care  much  about  debates." 

And  others  said : 

"  You  look  wretchedly  ill,  so  unlike  your  old  self.'* 
196 


The  Net  Tightens 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  all  right,  but 
rather  listless.  One  cannot  always  be  screwed  up  to 
concert-pitch.  I  think  I  am  rather  tired  of  teaching." 

"You  used  to  be  so  enthusiastic  about  teaching," 
some  one  said. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  was,"  she  answered.  "  Unfortu- 
nately enthusiasms  do  not  last." 

Several  of  her  pupils  failed  in  their  examinations,  and 
she  knew  it  was  her  fault.  She  had  not  given  of  her 
best  to  them  at  the  time  when  they  needed  the  final 
pushing  on.  Her  History  lectures,  too,  always  con- 
sidered particularly  brilliant  and  interesting,  had  fallen 
off  in  quality.  In  the  same  week  two  of  her  Principals 
spoke  to  her.  One  of  them  complained  about  her  lec- 
tures and  her  Greek  classes. 

"You  are  not  yourself,"  she  said,  kindly,"  and  I  think 
it  would  be  better  for  you  to  take  a  short  rest  and  come 
back  to  us  fresh  again.  I  can  put  Miss  Richmond  into 
your  place  temporarily.  You  see,  you  have  accustomed 
us  to  the  best  of  everything.  We  cannot  do  with  a 
second  best  from  you." 

Nora  yielded  up  her  post  without  attempting  to 
excuse  herself.  The  other  Principal  complained  of  the 
constant  presence  of  Mr  Bevan  in  the  immediate  vicin- 
ity of  the  school. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  a  prude,"  she  said,  "  but  I  do 
not  care  to  have  my  teachers  brought  to  school  and 
fetched  away  habitually  by  their  gentleman  friends.  It 
leads  to  comment  first  among  the  children,  and  through 
them,  amongst  the  parents ;  and  parents  are  troublesome 
enough  without  being  given  any  additional  opportunity 
for  grumbling." 

That  was  all  she  said,  and  she  asked  no  questions.  It 
was  her  theory  that  a  head-mistress  had  no  special  right 

197 


The  Fowler 

to  penetrate  into  the  private  life  of  her  teachers,  and  she 
was  vexed  that  Nora  had  given  her  occasion  to  complain 
at  all. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  Nora  said.  "  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  sorry  I  am.  It  shall  not  occur  again." 

But  it  did  occur  again,  for  Theodore  Bevan  forgot  her 
strict  injunctions,  and,  a  week  afterwards,  appeared  as 
usual  outside  the  school. 

"  Ah,  I  had  forgotten,"  he  said,  when  she  remonstrated. 
"  My  great  necessity  drove  me  to  you." 

"  I  wish  your  great  necessity  had  kept  you  at  home," 
she  said,  with  a  little  of  her  old  spirit. 

"  You  are  very  hard  on  me  sometimes,"  he  said, 
humbly. 

She  left  him  then  and  there,  and  found  her  way  to  the 
Principal's  private  room,  and  told  her  that  her  promise 
had  been  broken. 

"  I  have  just  been  told,"  the  head-mistress  said,  scan- 
ning her,  "  but  I  am  glad  you  came  yourself.  I  think  I 
ought  to  ask  you  now  who  this  man  is,  and  why  you 
cannot  carry  out  my  wishes.  Are  you  engaged  to 
him  ? " 

"No,"  said  Nora,  absently.  "We  have  just  drifted 
into  companionship." 

"  Is  not  that  rather  dangerous  on  the  whole  ?  "  said 
the  Principal,  kindly.  "One  may  drift  anywhere." 

"Oh,  I  think  one  is  always  drifting,"  Nora  said, 
shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"  That  is  the  language  of  Indifference,"  the  Principal 
said.  "It  is  not  your  real  tongue.  I  have  always  valued 
you  as  being  one  of  my  brightest  and  most  healthy- 
minded  teachers.  Don't  disappoint  me  now  after  three 
years  of  entire  satisfaction." 

Nora  went  home  wounded  in  her  pride,  and  wrote 
198 


The  Net  Tightens 

Theodore  Bevan  a  hasty  letter,  which  she  regretted  after 
it  had  been  sent.  His  answer  was  characteristic,  and 
ended  thus : — 

"And  for  the  rest,  what  may  I  plead  in  excuse  for  my 
unpardonable  thoughtlessness  ?  I  fear,  indeed,  that  my  only 
excuse  must  needs  be  my  own  abominable  selfishness.  I  have 
been  so  accustomed  all  my  lonely  life  to  make  for  what  I  wanted, 
irrespective  of  any  one  or  any  thing,  that  my  gentler  and  more 
unselfish  possibilities  are  scarcely  yet  at  my  command.  Forgive 
me.  I  am  already  punished  very  severely  in  that  I  have 
wounded  you  and  caused  you  to  think  impatiently  of  me. 

"THEODORE  BEVAN." 

For  several  days  after  this  episode,  Nora  saw  nothing 
of  Theodore  Bevan.  He  was  neither  at  the  Museum 
nor  outside  the  school;  neither  did  he  propose  any  meet- 
ings in  town,  nor  did  he  come  to  her  home.  Roger 
rejoiced  in  his  absence  ;  but  as  he  had  got  into  the  habit 
of  going  out  in  order  to  avoid  the  little  man,  whom  he 
disliked  intensely,  Nora  was  nearly  always  left  alone. 
Once  she  asked  her  father  to  stay  at  home,  and  he  all 
but  flung  ofF  his  hat  and  slipped  into  the  arm-chair. 
But  his  pride  prevented  him,  for  he  was  wounded  to  the 
quick  by  her  obstinacy  over  this  stranger,  and  by  her 
indifference  to  his  own  mental  comfort  and  happiness. 
So  he  said : 

"  I  think  I  don't  care  about  staying  at  home.  And, 
you  see,  you  will  be  having  your  friend.  He  will,  of 
course,  come,  and  you  know  I  dislike  him.  We  have 
threshed  all  that  out,  and  we  don't  agree.  Well  then,  I 
will  be  off." 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  holding  out  her  arms. 

He  did  not  hear,  and  he  passed  out  of  the  house.  But 
if  she  could  only  have  known  it,  he  came  back  and 

199 


The  Fowler 

lingered  outside,  and  even  took  the  latch-key  from  his 
pocket.  Then  he  changed  his  mind,  and  went  away. 
And  if  he  could  only  have  glanced  into  the  room,  he 
would  have  seen  Nora  bending  over  his  portrait,  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  Father  and  daughter 
nearly  reached  each  other  that  evening. 


200 


Another  Page  from  a  Journal 


CHAPTER  VII 

ANOTHER    PAGE    FROM    A    JOURNAL 

"  IT  is  indeed  strange  that  I,  of  all  people,  should  have 
become  a  prey  to  jealousy.  Until  lately,  I  never  regarded 
Athene  as  serving  any  purpose  except  that  of  a  new 
basis  for  investigation  and  conquest.  But  now,  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  I  begin  to  feel  that  I  care  for  some 
one  —  I  believe  that  I  am  learning  to  care  for  Athene. 

"  Love  ?  Ah,  love  is  a  large  word.  I  do  not  pretend 
to  reach  that.  I  began  in  my  usual  way  by  trying  to 
influence  her  character.  A  woman  of  her  education  and 
environment  had  never  before  come  into  my  horizon ; 
and  I  felt  that  it  would  be  amusing  and  instructive  to 
find  out  whether  my  curiously  subtle  power  over  women's 
natures  and  minds  could  be  extended  to  any  one  like  her- 
self, apparently  well-balanced  and  robust-minded,  and 
armed,  both  by  temperament  and  inheritance,  against  an 
unhealthy  onslaught.  To  me,  whose  one  passion  in  life 
has  been  the  exercise  of  this  my  birthright,  my  one 
undoubted  compensation  for  many  deprivations,  the  ex- 
periment was  a  specially  tempting  one. 

"  It  has  been  entirely  successful  —  almost  too  success- 
ful, so  far  as  my  poor  Athene  is  concerned.  My  poor 
Athene  !  When  I  first  saw  her,  she  seemed  to  me  like 
a  ship  in  full  sail,  riding  buoyantly  over  the  ocean  of 
life.  The  temptation  to  wreck  her  was  irresistible. 
Then  I  came,  and  lo  !  her  sails  torn,  her  mast  broken, 
and  her  destination  forgotten.  And  I — where  do  I 
stand  ?  In  injecting  my  own  mind's  poison  into  her 

201 


The  Fowler 

system,  I  have  injured  myself.  In  amusing  myself  in 
forcing  her  into  bondage,  I  have  myself  become  a 
bondsman.  This  has  never  happened  to  me  before.  I 
smile  to  think  it  should  ever  have  happened  to  me  —  to 
me,  accustomed  to  a  cool  and  constant  control  and 
understanding  of  my  own  passions,  and  impulses,  and 
emotions.  But  that  Uppingham  coming  on  the  scenes 
has  thrown  me  off  my  balance.  Every  time  he  has 
been  to  see  her,  my  power  over  her  has  sustained  an 
injury.  I  have  noticed  this  particularly.  Then  I  have 
tightened  my  hold  again  and  drawn  her  back  to  me,  and 
I  have  rejoiced  at  my  triumph  over  him  and  her.  For 
in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  loves  him ;  and  he  loves  her. 
I  only  stand  between  them.  But  I  will  stand  between 
them.  He  shall  not  have  her.  Athene  is  mine.  How 
dare  he  suppose  that  he  can  thwart  me  ! 

"  I,  jealous  !  Ah,  how  my  old  self  must  be  scoffing  at 
my  new  self!  For  there  can  be  no  jealousy  where  there 
is  merely  indifference.  If  we  are  indifferent  to  people, 
it  matters  little  enough  to  us  what  they  do  or  think  or 
feel ;  whom  they  love  or  whom  they  hate ;  whether  their 
countenances  brighten  up  at  the  approach  of  some  one 
other  than  ourselves,  or  whether  their  hearts  sink  when 
they  are  left  lonely,  and  deprived  of  the  soothing  or 
stimulating  influence  of  a  congenial  mind.  But  when 
we  are  not  indifferent  to  all  that,  when  it  wounds  —  at 
first  only  slightly,  and  then  more  painfully,  and  then 
acutely  —  we  may  be  said  to  be  jealous.  There  is  a 
jealous  love  and  a  jealous  hate.  But  I  do  not  hate  my 
poor  Athene.  It  is  not  hatred,  and  it  is  not  indifference, 
and  therefore  it  must  be  love  —  as  much  love  as  a  nature 
like  mine  could  be  capable  of.  For  I  know  my  limits. 
Still,  everything  being  so  relative  in  life,  I  suppose  for 
me  it  is  love.  Oh,  of  course  she  does  not  love  me  :  I 

202 


Another  Page  from  a  Journal 

have  never  been  able  to  inspire  love.  ...  If  I  could 
once  have  instilled  the  merest  fraction  of  affection  into 
any  one —  man,  woman,  dog  —  anything  —  I  might  have 
been  a  happier  man  and  a  better  one  too.  If  Athene 
could  love  me  with  the  merest  shadow  of  the  true  feel- 
ing, there  might  yet  be  a  chance  for  me.  But  that  is 
not  possible.  I  have  drawn  her  to  me  against  her  own 
will,  separated  her  from  mental  contact  with  all  her  old 
friends,  placed  an  invisible  barrier  between  herself  and 
her  father,  between  herself  and  her  would-be  lover, 
between  herself  and  her  very  life's  work.  And  she  is 
drifting  towards  me  because  she  cannot  resist  my  power. 
If  I  choose,  she  will  become  my  affianced  wife,  because 
she  cannot  resist  my  power.  If  I  choose,  she  will  yield 
herself  to  me  and  forego  the  name  of  wife,  simply  be- 
cause she  cannot  resist  my  power.  Athene  is  mine, 
not  by  choice  but  by  fate.  She  has  fought  a  gallant 
fight  against  me,  but  from  the  first  it  was  of  no  avail,  for 
I  had  made  up  my  mind. 

"Elopement  —  a  vulgar  pastime  indeed. 

"Marriage  —  well,  why  not?  And  she  might  learn 
to  care  for  me  .  .  .  who  knows  ?  And  I,  being  cared 
for  ever  so  little,  might  change  and  soften  and  c  go  softly 
all  my  days.'  Uppingham  shall  not  come  between  us. 
I,  jealous  !  What  a  curious  entry  to  make  in  my  jour- 
nal i  ...  So  Madge  Carson  has  ventured  to  warn  my 
Athene.  ." 


203 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A    CONFESSION    OF    LOVE 

NURSE    ISABEL'S    words     rang    in    Brian    Uppingham's 
ears :  — 

"  It  is  your  fairyland,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Yes,  it  was  his  fairyland.  He  had  recognised  it  at 
once,  and  entered  it  without  any  doubt  or  delay.  And 
living  there,  all  its  gracious  influences  were  telling  on 
him.  Joy  was  carolling  in  his  heart,  and  with  love  and 
happiness  as  the  levers  of  life,  ambition  had  returned  to 
him  tenfold  renewed.  Old  interests  claimed  him  once 
more,  new  interests  clamoured  for  him.  He  awoke  to 
outside  things.  The  events  of  the  world  held  him.  He 
had  broken  through  the  barriers  of  illness  and  indiffer- 
ence, and  found  his  way  into  the  open  plains.  For  his 
fairyland  was  not  a  dell  nor  a  deep  sheltered  lane.  It 
was  a  great  expanse  with  fine  strong  air  blowing,  and 
bracing  him  up  to  effort,  rightful  expression,  fulfilment, 
and  love. 

He  scarcely  knew  himself  when  he  rose  in  the  morn-* 
ings.  No  longer  impeded  by  physical  weakness  against 
which  it  had  been  impossible  to  fight,  no  longer  repressed 
by  sorrows  and  regrets  of  the  past,  he  took  up  his  life 
once  more,  and  found  it  a  beautiful  gift.  To  the  past  be- 
longed the  things  of  the  past,  the  joys  and  satisfactions, 
the  failures  and  accomplishments ;  and  now  the  future 
was  his,  a  great  far-stretching  plain,  immense  in  its 
possibilities. 

Jle  said  :  "  I  will  do  this.     I  will  do  that/' 
204 


A  Confession  of  Love 

He  said  :  "  I  have  thought  this.  I  have  thought  that. 
And  now  I  will  put  it  into  words.  I  will  press  forward 
without  any  fear.  I  will  believe  in  myself.  I  have  the 
right  to  believe  in  myself.  Because  I  have  succeeded 
once,  I  shall  succeed  again." 

And  whilst  he  spoke,  he  acted. 

His  friends  were  delighted  to  see  his  resurrection. 

"  Come  and  be  a  lion,  old  fellow,"  some  of  them  said 
to  him. 

But  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  brightly.     ct  I  have  other  fish  to  fry." 

"  But  you  may  roar  like  a  lion,  and  yet  fry  your  fish 
in  peace  !  " 

"  The  two  occupations  cannot  be  carried  on  at  the 
same  time,"  he  answered. 

"  Some  people  do  it,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  pretty  suc- 
cessfully too." 

"  It  depends  on  temperament,"  Brian  said. 

Nevertheless  they  persuaded  him  to  undergo  some 
lionising  for  the  sake  of  the  experience,  and  his  remarks 
and  criticisms  amused  them. 

"  Uppingham  is  a  simple  sort  of  fellow,"  they  said, 
not  disparagingly.  "  He  was  always  like  that,  and  he 
has  not  changed  either." 

For  such  a  poor  unflattering  view  do  most  people  take 
of  human  nature,  that  it  seems  an  amazing  thing  to  them 
when  a  man  rises  to  fame,  and  does  not  lower  himself 
by  losing  his  balance.  But  Brian  was  partially  protected 
by  temperament,  by  enforced  absence  from  the  scenes  of 
active  life,  and  now,  by  a  passionate  zeal  to  make  up 
for  lost  time,  put  the  best  of  his  mind  into  his  work,  and 
then  feel  that  he  had  the  right  to  speak  out  his  love  to 
Nora,  and  offer  to  her  the  first-fruits  of  his  renewed 
career  and  restored  activity  —  renewed  and  restored  by 

205 


The  Fowler 

and  through  her.  Then  he  would  be  able  to  say  to 
her: 

"  I  have  done  this.  I  have  done  that.  And  you 
have  made  me  do  it.  It  is  through  your  help  that  I 
have  brought  my  task  to  an  end,  because  it  has  been 
done  for  you.  But  for  you,  I  could  never  have  begun 
it.  But  beginning  it  for  your  sake,  I  have  finished  it 
for  your  sake  —  and  mine.  And  now  I  may  tell  you 
my  heart's  desire." 

So  whilst  Nurse  Isabel  laughed  at  what  she  called  his 
slowness,  he  was  really  pressing  on  at  a  tremendous  pace 
towards  his  goal,  gathering  strength  and  happiness  and 
confidence  all  the  time.  No  doubts  crossed  his  mind  as 
to  the  certainty  of  reaching  that  goal. 

"  Unless  God  send  His  hail  or  blinding  fireballs,  I 
shall  arrive." 

That  was  how  he  felt.  So,  immersed  in  work,  satu- 
rated with  his  great  idea,  dominated  by  his  new-born 
impulses,  and  armed  against  all  doubts,  he  pressed  on, 
and  did  not  realise  that  an  enemy  was  pressing  on  too 
and  leaving  him  far  behind.  He  knew,  of  course,  that 
Theodore  Bevan  visited  Nora  ;  but  in  his  simplicity  of 
heart  he  had  not  thought  seriously  of  that  little  oddity 
as  a  rival.  He  did  not  even  dislike  him  as  much  as  the 
others  did ;  and  also  he  had  not  the  opportunities  of 
observing  the  effect  which  he  produced  on  Nora.  For 
Nora  was  always  more  her  normal  self  in  Brian's  com- 
pany. Her  father  noticed  this.  It  was  just  as  though 
the  one  man  were  the  antidote  to  the  other.  The 
interest  which  she  took  in  his  work,  roused  her  from 
her  increasing  mental  depression,  and  the  mere  fact  that 
he  depended  on  her  sympathy  for  the  accomplishment 
of  his  tasks,  made  her  conquer  her  listlessness  each  time 
he  came  to  see  her.  Also  there  was  something  healing 

206 


A  Confession  of  Love 

in  his  nature,  and  something  infectious  in  his  simple 
thanksgiving  for  renewed  life  and  enthusiasm.  She 
welcomed  him  always  with  a  smile  in  her  heart  —  and 
a  sigh.  He  saw  the  smile,  and  did  not  hear  the  sigh. 
But  Nurse  Isabel's  warning  began  to  haunt  him ;  and 
when  he  next  paid  a  visit  to  Nora's  home,  his  eyes  were 
opened.  He  found  her  wretched  and  unreachable.  Her 
face  was  grey,  and  there  was  no  strength  in  her  voice. 

"  You  are  ill,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  gravely. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  you  are  unhappy,"  he  said. 

"  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  happiness  ? "  she  asked, 
evasively. 

"  You  surely  are  not  thinking  of  joining  the  Deca- 
dents," he  said. 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  joining  anything,"  she  said, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  am  feel- 
ing especially  detached  from  everything." 

Many  words  rose  to  his  lips  —  words  of  love,  kind- 
ness, sympathy,  tenderness  —  but  her  manner  was  so 
forbidding  that  he  dared  not  speak  them.  He  felt  in 
his  pocket,  and  brought  out  several  closely-written 
sheets. 

"  If  you  are  feeling  detached,"  he  said,  looking  at 
them  doubtfully,  "  you  will  not  be  inclined  to  listen  to 
my  outpourings  to-day;  and  indeed  I  begin  to  fear  that 
I  have  often  been  taxing  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  It  is  not 
true.  I  always  take  the  greatest  pleasure  and  pride  in 
your  work." 

She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face,  and  covered  it  for 
a  moment. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  it," 
she  said. 

207 


The  Fowler 

He  bent  forward. 

"  You  are  in  trouble,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Could  you 
perhaps  open  your  heart  a  little  to  me,  so  that  I  might 
try  to  help  you  ?  " 

A  wonderful  softness  came  over  her  expression;  a 
wonderful  thrill  passed  through  her  whole  being.  It 
seemed  to  her  at  that  moment  eminently  possible  to 
open  her  heart  to  this  man  and  tell  him  of  the  shadow 
on  her  soul  and  the  bondage  of  her  spirit.  She  felt 
impelled  to  do  it :  she  was  so  absolutely  unhappy  ;  had 
lost  her  way  ;  lost  touch  with  herself  and  other  people ; 
lost  the  very  key-note  of  harmony  with  her  higher 
nature  ;  lost  her  enthusiasms  ;  her  proper  hold  on  what 
she  most  cared  for  in  life ;  was  losing  her  will  power 
and  her  own  individuality ;  was  becoming,  nay,  had 
become,  a  thing  to  be  played  on,  strummed  on,  jarred 
on,  by  a  man  whom  she  did  not  even  love.  And  here 
was  a  friend,  the  pure-hearted,  high-minded  historian, 
wishing  to  help  her.  She  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
looked  at  his  clear,  faithful  face  —  and  let  herself  go. 

"  I  believe  I  can  speak  to  you,"  she  said,  excitedly. 
"  Oh,  I  've  tried  dozens  of  times  to  speak  to  my  old 
father,  but  he  has  rubbed  me  up  the  wrong  way  — 
everybody  has  been  rubbing  me  up  the  wrong  way  — 
everybody  has  been  cautioning  me  against  Theodore 
Bevan  —  abusing  him,  exaggerating  his  peculiarities, 
pointing  out  dangers  which  do  not  exist,  rallying  me, 
criticising  me,  until  I  am  absolutely  sick  of  every  one 
and  everything." 

"  And  are  you  sick  of  Theodore  Bevan  too  ?  "  Brian 
asked,  quietly. 

She  looked  at  him  so  helplessly  that  his  heart  sprang 
out  to  greet  her.  But  he  held  himself  controlled. 

"  I  am  overshadowed,"    she  said,  like  a   tired  child. 
208 


A  Confession  of  Love 

"  That  is  the  real  truth  of  the  matter.     I  never  thought 
it  possible.      It  has  come  unawares." 

"  Is  it  love  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  tremble  in  his  voice. 

"  Love  surely  brings  happiness,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head.  "  I  am  not  happy." 

"  Then  if  it  is  not  love,  it  can  be  dealt  with,"  he  said, 
firmly.  "  Only  Love  and  Death  have  to  go  their  own 
way  unimpeded.  All  our  entreaties  cannot  keep  off 
Death.  All  our  resistings  cannot  deter  Love.  And 
there  is  no  mistaking  either  Love  or  Death." 

He  spoke  so  quietly,  and  yet  with  such  absolute 
conviction,  that  Nora  glanced  at  him  wonderingly,  and 
felt  again  the  thrill  of  being  with  him. 

"  I  have  not  been  giving  any  particular  attention  to 
your  friend  Mr  Bevan,"  he  continued,  "because  my 
thoughts  and  anxieties  have  been  directed  elsewhere.  I 
have  been  pressing  on  towards  my  goal,  and  my  goal  has 
been  you.  I  had  not  meant  to  speak  to  you  until  the 
time  had  come  when  I  could  say  to  you :  c  I  have  picked 
up  the  threads  of  my  life,  I  have  found  my  way  back  to  the 
scene  of  action,  I  have  finished  my  book  and  launched  it 
out  in  the  world,  and  at  last  I  feel  that  I  may  dare  open 
my  heart  and  show  how  you  are  enshrined  in  it.'  But 
now  I  can  only  say  :  c  I  am  picking  up  the  threads  of  my 
life,  I  am  finding  my  way  back  to  the  scene  of  action, 
only  I  have  not  reached  as  far  as  I  would  fain  have  gone, 
before  pleading  for  myself  and  asking  for  your  love/ 
But  you  know.  You  have  seen  and  felt  how  you  have 
changed  the  world  for  me.  You  have  lifted  me  up  and 
urged  me  on  ;  you  have  inspired  and  fired  me ;  from  the 
moment  I  saw  you,  I  passed,  as  it  were,  into  a  promised 
land.  To  be  so  lonely  as  I  was  when  you  first  came  to 
me  —  and  then  suddenly  to  be  flooded  with  hope  and 
love  —  ah,  I  have  not  been  thinking  of  Theodore  Bevan 
14  209 


The  Fowler 

—  I've  been  thinking  of  myself  and  you — you  and 
myself,  you  and  me  together  —  you,  the  very  keynote  of 
my  life,  the  very  kernel  of  my  heart." 

He  had  unconsciously  opened  his  arms  wide,  and  his 
hands  were  trembling ;  and  she  had  been  leaning  back 
against  the  sofa ;  but  as  he  went  on,  she  had  strained 
forward  and  clasped  her  hands  on  her  knees.  Her  face 
was  deadly  pale ;  there  was  an  expression  of  vague  and 
unexpected  hope  in  her  eyes,  like  that  of  a  shipwrecked 
sailor  who  has  suddenly  sighted  a  passing  vessel.  Some 
words  rose  to  her  lips,  but  she  could  not  give  them 
utterance ;  and  the  next  moment,  she  had  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  was  sobbing  bitterly ;  her  whole 
strong  frame  was  convulsed  with  sobs. 

He  stemmed  the  tide  of  his  passion  and  emotion,  and 
knelt  beside  her,  even  as  a  mother  might  kneel  by  her 
stricken  child. 

"  My  own  sweet  love,"  he  said,  with  beautiful  tender- 
ness, "  I  had  not  meant  to  take  you  unawares  —  it  was 
only  that  you  were  in  such  trouble,  and  it  seemed  so 
natural  for  me  to  speak  of  my  great  love.  I  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  the  right  to  do  so,  since  you  were  in 
trouble.  If  you  had  said  you  had  loved  him,  then  I 
should  have  had  no  right  to  interfere  with  you  and  your 
grief.  But  you  said  it  was  not  love,  my  own  dearest 
Heart  —  and  then  the  floodgates  were  opened  for 
me  —  " 

She  raised  her  tear-stained  face  to  him. 

"  You  must  not  speak  like  that  to  me,"  she  said 
between  her  sobs.  "  I  am  not  worthy  of  such  as  you. 
I  am  just  a  selfish,  self-centred  girl,  to  whom  everything 
has  come  too  easily  —  pleasure  and  work  and  everything 
beautiful,  and  now  your  love.  And  I'm  not  worthy  of 
it,  and  not  free.  If  I  were  free  in  mind  and  spirit  I 

210 


A  Confession  of  Love 

might  have  striven  to  be  worthy.  But  I  am  not  free  — 
that  man  stands  between  me  and  you  —  between  me  and 
everything  —  it's  Fate  —  and  I'm  not  free.  No,  no,  you 
must  not  speak  like  that  to  me  —  I  cannot  bear  it  —  it  is 
more  than  I  can  bear."  .  .  . 

"  Hush,  hush,  you  must  not  sob  like  that,"  he  said, 
gently,  but  still  she  sobbed. 

"  You  must  free  yourself  if  you  are  not  desiring  this 
bondage,"  he  said.  "  You  must  not  be  beaten  by  that 
pale  ghost,  Fate." 

But  she  went  on  sobbing  and  made  no  answer. 

"I  will  help  you  to  free  yourself,"  he  said.  "I  have 
the  right  to  do  so  since  I  love  you,  and  since  you  tell  me 
that  this  man,  whom  I  have  been  ignoring  all  this  time, 
stands  between  you  and  me." 

But  she  shook  her  head  as  though  to  imply  that  noth- 
ing and  no  one  could  help  her. 

"  Nora,"  he  said,  tremblingly. 

She  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  name. 

"  I  can  wait,"  he  said,  smiling  sadly.  "  I  am  one  of 
those  who  can  wait ;  and  when  you  want  me,  I  am  here 
for  you,  now  or  hereafter.  If  you  want  love  or  help, 
remember  always  I  am  waiting  for  you.  I  know  I  have 
been  waiting  for  you  all  my  life  —  for  you  and  no  one 
else ;  for  when  you  came,  you  see  I  recognised  you  at 
once.  When  I  have  left  you,  you  will  think  of  my 
words,  and  they  will  help  you  in  your  struggle.  You 
will  say  :  c  Brian  is  waiting  /  ' 

"  Brian  is  waiting^"  she  repeated,  with  unconscious 
fervour. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that  is  what  you  will  say,  and  I  thank 
God  that  you  have  begun  to  say  it  already.  You  tell  me 
Theodore  Bevan  stands  between  you  and  me.  But  I 
stand  between*  him  and  you.  If  I  may  not  reach  any 

211 


The  Fowler 

farther  than  that  just  now,  my  own  sweet  Love,  at  least 
you  may  remember  that  there  I  stand  and  hold  my  ground 
against  all  odds." 

He  stooped  down,  and  gently  raised  her  hand  to  his 
lips. 

"  Good-bye,  dear,"  he  said.  "You  are  sending  me 
away  sad,  but  not  hopeless.  Some  day  this  barrier  be- 
tween us  shall  be  broken  down."  He  turned  to  go. 

"  Brian,"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  awakening. 

Her  sobs  had  ceased,  her  tear-stained  face  was  lit  up 
with  a  passing  radiance. 

He  turned  to  her  with  new-born  hope. 

"  Is  it  possible  after  all  that  my  time  of  waiting —  " 

The  door  opened,  and  Theodore  Bevan  stepped  into 
the  room. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  to  Nora.  "  I  meant  to  have 
been  here  by  four  o'clock.  It  has  just  struck  five." 


212 


A  Kick  and  a  Betrothal 


CHAPTER   IX 

A    KICK    AND    A    BETROTHAL 

BRIAN  went  home  that  evening  feeling  sad  and  helpless, 
for  directly  Theodore  Bevan  had  made  his  appearance, 
Nora  seemed  to  fall  under  his  influence.  He  sat  for  a 
long  time  in  his  study  puzzling  out  the  situation,  and 
made  up  his  mind  to  open  his  heart  to  Mr  Penhurst. 

He  turned  to  his  writing  after  that,  and  worked  late 
into  the  night,  and  then  remembered  that  he  had  for- 
gotten an  engagement  in  Puppet  Land,  as  he  called  the 
society  world,  to  which  he  was  sometimes  invited. 

"Nevermind,"  he  thought,  with  a  smile,"  some  of  the 
other  puppets  will  turn  up,  and  we  are  all  one  and  the 
same  to  her  ladyship ;  we  have  no  separate  existence,  no 
distinctive  characteristics  in  her  eyes.  I  will  go  and  be 
a  puppet  some  other  time ;  and  I  think,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  the  successful  Western  c  cattle-puncher '  was 
going  to  be  the  guest  of  the  evening.  That  makes  it  all 
right." 

The  next  morning  he  picked  out  from  his  letters  a 
specially  curious  handwriting.  The  delicately-traced 
words  on  the  envelope  fascinated  him,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  he  opened  it. 

Then  he  read  : 

"  SIR,  — You  will,  I  am  sure,  regret  to  learn  that  your  inter- 
view with  Miss  Penhurst  has  greatly  upset  and  distressed  her. 
I  feel  compelled  to  ask  you  not  to  seek  to  see  her  for  the  present ; 
and  lest  you  be  inclined  to  question  my  authority,  I  have  the 
honour  to  tell  you  that  Miss  Penhurst  is  thinking  of  engaging 

213 


The  Fowler 

herself  to  me,  and  that  I  therefore  would  seem  to  have  the  right 
to  protect  her,  so  far  as  I  can,  from  any  unwelcome  expression 
of  devotion  or  friendship. 

"THEODORE  BEVAN." 

The  letter  dropped  from  Brian's  hand,  and  he  sat  as 
one  paralysed.  Then  he  pulled  himself  together,  and 
snatching  up  his  hat,  went  straight  off  to  Theodore 
Bevan's  lodgings  in  Bedford  Square.  There  was  an 
amused  smile  on  Bevan's  thin  lips  when  he  looked  up 
and  recognised  his  early  visitor. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  expected  you.  I  have  delayed  my 
departure  by  half  an  hour." 

Brian  turned  to  the  landlady  who  had  shown  him  up, 
and  was  now  going  away : 

"  Stay,"  he  said  to  her,  "  I  won't  keep  you  long." 
Then,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  without  giving 
any  sign  or  suggestion  of  what  he  intended  to  do,  he 
took  Theodore  Bevan  by  the  collar  and  deliberately 
shook  him.  It  was  all  done  so  quickly  that  there  could 
be  no  resisting.  Theodore  Bevan  was  shaken  backwards 
and  forwards  like  some  perverse  impudent  child,  and 
then  kicked  across  the  room. 

"  Damned  impudent  little  puppy,"  Brian  said.  "  Here's 
your  letter,  and  this  is  my  answer  to  it.  And  there's 
your  landlady  to  witness  that  I  have  laid  hands  on  you. 
And  that  is  all  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

He  threw  the  letter  on  the  breakfast-table,  glanced  at 
the  landlady,  who  wore  an  amazed  but  not  an  unsympa- 
thetic look,  and  leisurely  left  the  house. 

The  landlady  went  off  without  daring  to  make  any 
comment  to  Mr.  Bevan  on  this  strange  little  episode ; 
but  downstairs,  in  the  kitchen,  her  pent-up  feelings  of 
wonderment  found  due  expression,  and  she  ended  by 
saying : 

214 


A  Kick  and  a  Betrothal 

"  And  it  were  all  the  world  like  a  big  dog  shaking  a 
rat." 

Brian  meanwhile  hurried  to  Nora's  home,  and  asked 
for  her.  The  servant  said  she  was  out,  but  that  Mr. 
Penhurst  was  in  his  study.  Brian  found  the  old  man 
bending  over  a  volume  of  Spinoza. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  looking  up,  "  you  are  an  early  visitor, 
but  a  welcome  one." 

"  And  it  is  not  my  first  visit,  either,"  said  Brian,  slip- 
ping into  the  arm-chair.  "  I  have  just  come  from 
Theodore  Bevan's  lodgings,  where  I  gave  him  a  good 
sound  shaking  for  some  impudence  of  his." 

In  a  few  words  he  related  the  whole  history  :  his  inter- 
view with  Nora  on  the  previous  evening,  her  outburst  of 
confidence,  his  own  declaration  of  love,  and  the  sudden 
appearance  of  Theodore  Bevan. 

"  Directly  he  came,  she  seemed  to  shrink  into  herself," 
Brian  said  ;  "  and  there  was  no  reaching  her.  The  only 
thing  for  me  to  do  was  to  go,  and  I  came  to  look  for 
you,  but  you  were  out." 

"  I  am  always  out  now,"  Roger  Penhurst  said,  sadly. 
"  Home  is  not  the  same  to  me  that  it  was  a  few  months 
ago.  That  man  has  changed  everything  for  me.  He 
comes  so  often,  and  his  very  presence  is  detestable  to 
me.  I  never  knew  how  much  I  could  dislike  any  one 
until  I  met  him.  Apart  from  him,  my  nature  can  burst 
into  flowers  ;  but  side  by  side  with  him,  those  flowers 
die  down  into  hideous  weeds.  I  am  all  wrong  with  my- 
self, and  filled  with  hatred  and  malice.  I  am  very  un- 
happy. I  wander  away  alone,  a  forsaken  old  man  —  and 
my  Nora  does  not  see.  Ah,  she  does  not  mean  to  be 
unkind.  It  is  only  that  she  cannot  see.  These  times 
come  to  us  all  —  to  the  best  of  us,  too  —  when  we  can- 
not see  clearly,  and  no  one  can  help  us  to  a  better  vision. 

215 


The  Fowler 

Then,  when  it  is  too  late  for  ourselves  and  for  those  who 
have  loved  us,  the  scales  fall  from  our  eyes." 

He  turned  impulsively  to  Brian  and  held  out  both  his 
hands. 

"  I  have  always  thought  you  loved  my  dear  girl,"  he 
said  ;  "  and  hearing  this  welcome  news  from  you  yourself 
fills  me  again  with  hope.  Make  your  love  so  strong 
that  you  may  succeed  in  freeing  her  from  that  little  cen- 
tipede's power,  and  win  for  yourself  her  heart  and  her 
father's  blessing.  I  know  her  so  well  that  I  am  sure 
you  are  a  man  after  her  own  heart.  Poor  child !  And 
I've  been  able  to  do  nothing;  to  help  her :  I've  bungled, 

O  f  D  7 

and  she  has  been  drifting  away  from  me,  and  in  a  direc- 
tion in  which  she  would  never  have  chosen  to  go  of  her 
own  free  will.  But  if  she  drifts  to  you,  all  will  be  well." 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  and  seemed  to  expand  with 
something  of  his  old  geniality. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you've  put  fresh  life  into  me.  I  feel  I 
have  a  comrade  again  —  some  one  to  back  me  up  against 
a  common  enemy."  Then,  with  a  return  of  cheerfulness, 
a  twinkle  came  into  his  eye. 

"  And  so  you  took  and  shook  him ! "  he  said,  smiling. 
«  Capital ! " 

As  the  whole  scene  dawned  more  clearly  on  him,  he 
laughed. 

"  Delightful !  "  he  said.  "  Only  how  I  wish  I  had 
had  enough  gumption  to  do  it  myself.  I  have  been  too 
depressed  lately  to  do  anything  sensible.  I  too  have 
been  drifting  —  anywhere.  I  have  been  dreadfully  wor- 
ried about  my  Nora  :  she  is  so  unlike  herself,  so  spiritless 
and  morbid,  so  impatient  in  her  manner,  and  dogged  in 
her  persistence  about  this  wretched  little  rag  of  a  man. 
But  now  you  step  forward,  and  suddenly  I  become 
flooded  with  hope.  What  I  cannot  do,  being  only  her 

21$ 


A  Kick  and  a  Betrothal 

old  father  —  and  a  very  bad  specimen  of  a  parent  —  you 
will  be  able  to  do,  being  her  lover." 

"  I  am,  indeed,  full  of  love  for  her,"  Brian  said.  "  I 
felt  from  the  moment  I  saw  her  that  Nora  was  mine  and 
mine  only.  And  it  never  entered  my  head  to  take  that 
man  into  consideration." 

"  And  I  felt  from  the  moment  I  saw  you  that  I 
desired  you  for  my  son,"  Roger  Penhurst  said,  warmly. 

"Dear,  dear  old  man,"  Brian  said.  "You  were  good 
to  me  from  the  very  beginning  when  you  first  measured 
my  head  !  " 

"  You  have  a  fine  head,"  Roger  said,  smiling,  and  look- 
ing at  Brian's  strong  and  open  forehead.  "  Not  that  I 
mean  that  it  would  be  specially  advantageous  to  choose 
a  son-in-law  according  to  the  measurement  of  his  head." 

"  You  were  good  to  me  from  the  beginning,"  Brian 
continued,  "  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  obstacle ;  or 
rather  I  did  not  realise  there  was  any.  Nurse  Isabel 
warned  me  all  along  about  Theodore  Bevan,  but  it  was 
only  yesterday  that  my  eyes  were  opened ;  and  I  saw 
for  myself,  when  he  came  into  the  room,  what  a  subtle 
influence  he  has  over  her.  And  then  this  letter.  He 
would  not  dare  to  write  in  that  strain  to  me,  unless  he 
had  some  strong  hope  of  becoming  engaged  to  her." 

"I  know  nothing  of  what  happened  last  night,"  Roger 
said.  "  Six  months  ago  Nora  would  have  told  me 
everything.  She  came  down  to  breakfast  this  morning 
looking  thoroughly  miserable,  and  hurried  off  to  her 
work.  She  will  not  be  home  until  twelve." 

"I  shall  wait  here  to  see  her,"  Brian  said.  "Last 
night  I  all  but  won  her;  and  then  suddenly  I  lost  her. 
She  passed  away  from  me  as  a  spirit  might  have  passed. 
I  cannot  believe  that  she  sanctioned  that  letter.  I  can- 
not believe  that  she  would  not  wish  to  see  me.  It 

317 


The  Fowler 

must  be  his  impudent  invention  or  else  his  extraordinary 
influence  against  which  she  does  not  seem  able  to  fight. 
But  I  can  wait  and  hope;  for  I  believe  that  she  is 
destined  to  be  mine." 

So  the  two  men  waited  together  for  Nora  even  as  they 
were  to  wait  afterwards  for  many  long  weeks  and 
months.  The  lover  unfolded  his  heart  to  the  father, 
and  the  father  eased  his  saddened  heart  to  the  lover,  and 
the  confidence  and  kindness  between  them  grew  apace. 
Brian  was  more  hopeful  than  Roger  Penhurst  about 
Nora  being  able  to  free  herself  from  Bevan's  power. 
Her  father  had  seen  the  whole  thing  from  the  beginning, 
and  he  knew  better  than  Brian  how  greatly  she  had  been 
changing  those  last  nine  months,  ever  since  Bevan  had 
found  her  at  the  gate-house  of  the  old  Castle. 

"  He  has  been  pulling  her  mind  to  shreds,  and  toying 
with  her  soul,"  Roger  said. 

"  But  he  does  not  love  her  ?  "  Brian  said. 
"Love  her?  "  Roger  repeated.  "  Such  a  little  worm 
as  that  has  no  heart  with  which  to  love.  He  is  only  a 
mental  machine.  I  would  rather  that  my  girl  ran  away 
half-a-dozen  times  over  with  a  real  throbbing  human 
being,  than  get  her  dear  mind  caught  and  held  in  the 
cruel  wheels  of  a  silent  devilish  piece  of  mechanism  — 
so  silent  that  most  people  don't  believe  in  it  unless  it  is 
given  a  name." 

"  But  the  unlabelled  poisons  are  the  most  dangerous," 
said  Brian. 

"  Ah,  you  are  right,"  Roger  answered.  "  And  I  knew 
by  instinct  when  I  saw  that  little  Bevan,  that  he  was  an 
enemy  to  her,  and  to  me,  and  to  all  who  loved  her." 

"  Could  you  not  somehow  have  prevented  the  ac- 
quaintance from  growing  into  an  intimacy  ? "  Brian 
asked. 

218 


A  Kick  and  a  Betrothal 

Roger  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  in  my  own  way  I've  tried,"  he  said,  "but  it 
has  been  of  no  avail,  and  Nora  and  I  have  not  been  on 
those  terms  with  each  other,  where  the  parent  lays 
down  the  law,  and  the  child  has  to  give  in  and  make 
the  best  or  worst  of  it.  If  we  had  had  a  different  sort 
of  relationship  with  each  other,  many  things  would  have 
been  better  for  her  —  and  some  worse.  But  when  all 
is  said  and  done,  we  have  been  very  happy  together. 
And  happiness  is  not  a  bad  training  in  its  way." 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  we  were  wonderfully 
happy  together  until  he  came  into  our  lives  :  tasks  in 
common,  friends  in  common,  foes  in  common  —  until 
now.  She  has  put  up  with  my  dry-as-dust  comrades, 
and  I  have  swallowed  her  modern  women  and  liked 
them.  We  have  never  really  fallen  out  about  anything 
or  any  one  until  this  little  centipede  came  on  the  scenes. 
She  has  forgiven  me  all  my  faults,  and  has  always  been 
very  lenient  to  me,  and  full  of  broad  understanding. 
My  girl,  my  Nora " 

Brian  was  deeply  moved  by  the  old  man's  sadness. 
He  looked  at  Roger  Penhurst's  splendid  face,  noble 
forehead,  and  wealth  of  white  and  silvery  curls,  and  felt 
a  fresh  wave  of  admiration  and  affection  for  him. 

"  Don't  be  so  down-hearted,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  This 
shadow  will  pass.  I  know  it  will  pass.  And  if  your 
haven  sometimes  seems  to  fail  you,  let  my  home  be  your 
haven.  Don't  wander  about  a  forsaken  old  man.  Come 
to  me,  and  we  will  talk  of  Nora  and  Herbert  Spencer, 
and  Imperial  politics  and  Nora.  We  will  talk  of 
Spinoza  and  America,  and  brain-books  and  Nora.  She 
will  be  woven  into  all  our  thoughts  and  words,  even 
las  the  vine  tastes  of  its  own  grape.'  Look  up.  Let 
your  bright  spirit  pierce  the  gloom.  Whatever  the 

219 


The  Fowler 

passing  trouble,  your  daughter,  at  least,  loves  you  with 
her  whole  heart.  You  cannot  imagine  to  yourself  in 
what  loving  terms  she  speaks  of  you,  and  of  all  the 
happiness  she  has  had  with  you  ever  since  she  can 
remember.  I  have  heard  it  from  her  own  dear  lips, 
and  have  seen  her  face  light  up  when  your  name  was 
even  mentioned.  But  you  know  it." 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  the  old  man  said,  with  sudden 
brightness.  "And  you  are  right,  Uppingham.  I  will 
chase  away  the  sadness  from  my  soul.  I've  managed 
very  badly  over  this  Bevan  business.  I  have  a  horrid 
temper  at  times,  and  I  know  I  have  rubbed  her  up  the 
wrong  way ;  and  that  has  made  her  stubborn  like  her 
father.  When  she  comes  back,  1  will  begin  all  over 
again.  With  you  to  help  me,  as  my  comrade  and  her 
lover,  I  believe  we  may  yet  beat  off  the  enemy.  And 
you  have  begun  already  —  by  to-day's  work.  Ah,  that 
was  a  capital  piece  of  work  —  so  quick  and  thorough  !  " 

"  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  it  was  thorough," 
Brian  answered,  smiling.  "  It  was  at  least  quick  !  " 

And  rendered  more  cheerful  by  the  recollection  of  the 
centipede's  discomfiture,  they  talked  of  other  things, 
and  Roger  showed  Brian  some  of  his  treasures  :  some  of 
Handel's  manuscripts,  some  old  Italian  church  music, 
two  or  three  of  his  instruments,  a  splendid  old  viol  da 
gamba,  and  his  favorite  violoncello,  a  Grancino,  not 
specially  valuable,  but  with  a  tone  of  exquisite  purity 
and  pathos. 

"Nora  helped  me  to  buy  that  with  her  first  earnings," 
he  said,  proudly.  "  I  had  set  my  heart  on  it,  and  several 
times  she  found  me  flirting  with  it  in  the  old  fiddle-shop, 
where  I  used  to  go  and  visit  my  old  friend,  the  well- 
known  violin-maker,  now  passed  away.  The  end  of 
the  story  is  that  one  day  she  brought  it  home.  I  found 

220 


A  Kick  and  a  Betrothal 

it  here  when  I  returned.  I  was  very  angry  at  first,  and 
finally  accepted  it  without  a  murmur.  I  will  play  to 
you  the  melody  with  which  we  christened  it  that  even- 
ing—  our  favourite  Boccherini.  I  played  it  before  to 
you  in  the  church;  but  it  bears  repeating." 

He  resined  his  bow,  gently  tuned  the  Grancino,  and 
began.  Brian  looked  towards  him  at  first,  but  then  bent 
forward  near  the  fire,  and  saw  visions  in  the  changing 
lights  of  the  flames.  Boccherini's  Andante  is  sad  music. 
The  sadness  penetrated  into  the  heart  of  both  listener 
and  player.  The  door  was  softly  opened,  and  Nora  came 
in. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  with  more  emotion  than  she  had 
shown  to  him  for  many  weeks,  "  my  favourite  melody  — 
and  you  playing  it  so  beautifully." 

She  looked  across  to  the  fireside  and  saw  Brian. 
Brian  rose.  Her  father  leaned  against  the  violoncello : 
she  stood  between  them,  her  head  bowed,  her  face  drawn 
and  pale.  It  was  Brian  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  have  waited  to  see  you,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
trembled  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  wished  not  to  see  you  just  yet,"  she  said. 

"  Then  you  sanctioned  Mr  Bevan's  letter  to  me  ?  " 
he  said,  anxiously. 

"  I  wished  not  to  see  you  just  yet,"  she  repeated.  "It 
was  more  than  I  could  bear." 

Then  she  went  on  hurriedly  : 

"  I  think  it  is  best  for  me  to  tell  you  both  that  I  have 
decided  to  engage  myself  to  Theodore  Bevan.  It  has 
been  a  great  struggle  to  me,  and  I  suppose  time  only 
will  show  whether  I  have  done  rightly.  But  if  I  had 
decided  otherwise,  I  should  have  been  very  unhappy  and 
restless.  Father,  you  have  known  all  along  how  things 
were  going.  But  to  you,  Mr  Uppingham,  I  owe  an  ex- 
21  221 


The  Fowler 

planation  ;  and  I  was  intending  to  write  to  you.  You 
were  very  good  to  me  yesterday,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  Mr  Bevan  and  I  had  had  some  falling  out,  but  when 
he  came,  many  things  were  explained,  and  I  learnt  of  his 
great  love  for  me.  He  is  not  like  other  people ;  but, 
father,  you  can  get  to  know  and  respect  him  if  you 
choose,  only  you  have  always  persistently  disliked  him,  and 
without  a  cause  too.  And  you,  Mr  Uppingham " 

He  interrupted  her. 

"I  think  you  must  not  say  anything  about  me  just 
now,"  he  said.  "  It  would  be  more  than  I  could  bear." 

He  passed  on  to  the  door,  and  there  he  paused. 

"  Last  night,"  he  said,  "  I  seemed  suddenly  to  hope 
that  my  time  of  waiting  would  not  be  very  long.  The 
hope  died  at  the  moment  of  its  birth.  But  hope,  like 
spring-time,  Nora,  is  born  afresh.  And  I  shall  always 
be  waiting  for  you  —  always." 

Nora  had  stood  with  bowed  head.  Now  she  looked 
up,  and  saw  that  he  had  gone.  She  drew  nearer  to  her 
father,  who  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  resting  his 
hand  on  the  scroll  of  the  'cello.  He  seemed  as  one 
paralysed,  or  else  lost  in  thought. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  entreatingly,  and  she  touched  him 
on  the  arm.  Six  months  ago  she  would  have  passed  her 
hands  through  his  silvery  curls  and  caressed  them.  Now 
it  was  all  different.  He  roused  himself,  glanced  at  her 
impatiently,  seemed  as  though  he  wanted  to  give  vent  to 
his  feelings  by  flinging  his  instrument,  his  bow,  his 
music,  anywhere,  everywhere.  But  his  mood  changed. 
He  put  the  beloved  Grancino  tenderly  on  its  side,  and 
unscrewed  his  bow. 

"  You  are  a  bitter  disappointment  to  me,  Nora,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  You  are  not  a  child,  and  you  ought  to 
know  your  own  mind,  as  far  as  any  one  ever  does  know 

222 


A  Kick  and  a  Betrothal 

his  own  mind.  In  my  own  way,  I  have  wrestled  with 
you  over  this  Theodore  Bevan.  If  I  had  known  how  to 
behave  more  like  an  ordinary  sensible  British  parent, 
perhaps  things  would  have  been  better  for  you  and  me. 
I  blame  myself  for  long  years  of  laziness  and  incompe- 
tence about  your  bringing  up  ;  and  I  blame  you  for  your 
ingratitude  and  your  utter  disregard  of  all  my  wishes." 

"  But,  father,"  she  began. 

"Don't  begin  to  argue  and  explain,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
sick  of  that.  I  have  scarcely  ever  asked  anything  of 
you  ;  and  now,  the  first  time  I  ask,  you  refuse.  But  I 
again  beg  you  to  pull  yourself  together  and  give  up  that 
detestable  little  man." 

"  I  cannot  give  him  up,"  Nora  answered,  firmly.  "  It 
is  fate." 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  moment,  and 
then  : 

"  You  mean  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Absolutely,"  she  answered.  "  It  is  fate.  I  am  im- 
pelled to  it." 

"  I  shall  never  again  ask  anything  of  you,  Nora,"  the 
old  man  said.  "  And  now  things  must  just  take  their 
own  way." 

"  Ah,  father,  don't  turn  from  me  like  that,"  she  cried. 
"  I  have  not  done  anything  to  disgrace  you  —  you  don't 
think  that  I  have  done  anything  to  disgrace  you  —  surely, 
surely  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  that,"  he  said,  coldly.  Then  with 
a  sudden  impulse,  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  head.  There 
it  rested  in  kindness  and  blessing  and  pity,  and  many 
other  beautiful  things.  But  he  did  not  speak  another 
word,  and  soon  afterwards  he  went  out  of  the  house. 

Thus  began  Nora's  engagement  to  Theodore  Bevan. 


223 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   X 

MRS    MARY    SHAW    AS    COMFORTER 

IT  was  only  a  few  days  after  Nora's  engagement  to 
Theodore  Bevan,  that  Brian,  walking  past  the  British 
Museum,  met  Nurse  Isabel. 

In  spite  of  her  engaging  outdoor  apparel,  she  looked 
rather  doleful,  and  Brian  rallied  her  at  once. 

"  Another  depressing  and  distinguished  patient  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  brightening  up  when  she  saw 
him.  "  Pretty  good  luck  on  the  whole.  I  have  only 
had  one  novelist  lately,  and  one  poet,  and  one  consulting 
physician.  The  rest  have  been  passable." 

"  Then  why  are  you  looking  so  miserable  ? "  he  said. 

"  I  don't  think  you  look  much  better  yourself,"  she 
said. 

"  I  am  not  very  happy,"  he  answered. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  Nurse  Isabel  said.  "  I  went 
to  call  on  Miss  Penhurst  yesterday,  and  I  learnt  from 
her  that  she  was  engaged  to  Mr.  Bevan,  and  that,  at 
his  express  wish,  I  was  not  to  be  included  amongst 
her  acquaintances.  That  is  his  revenge  on  me  for  my 
impertinence  in  delivering  an  unpleasant  message  —  that 
and  sundry  other  little  stabs  in  the  dark.  He  has  been 
injuring  me  in  more  than  one  direction  with  covert 
aspersions  on  my  work  and  my  character.  I  don't  mind 
that  so  much,  but  I  do  mind  being  warded  oft"  from  Miss 
Penhurst  as  though  I  were  a  leper." 

224 


Mrs  Mary  Shaw  as  Comforter 

u  Let  us  come  and  have  a  talk  in  the  vestibule,"  he 
said.  "  Can  you  spare  the  time  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I  can't  afford  to  be  depressed  any  more," 
she  said.  "  And  on  the  rare  occasions  when  I  have  hon- 
oured the  Museum,  I  have  felt  inclined  to  cut  my  throat. 
Museums  and  geography  books  and  atlases  don't  agree 
with  me.  Let  us  go  to  the  Hungarian  restaurant." 

So  they  went,  and  he  told  her  of  his  great  dis- 
appointment. 

"  You  were  too  slow,"  she  said,  sipping  her  coffee. 
"I  warned  you.  I  never  heard  of  anything  so  ridiculous 
as  a  man  deliberately  sitting  down  to  write  a  continua- 
tion of  a  History  when  he  ought  to  be  proposing  to  the 
woman  he  loves.  I  am  not  at  all  sorry  for  you." 

But  she  looked  sorry,  and  her  manner  was  very  sym- 
pathetic to  him.  She  often  thought  of  him,  and  always 
as  a  chastening  influence  on  her  wayward  nature.  He 
had  not  the  least  suspicion  that  since  she  had  learnt  to 
know  him  she  was  not  quite  the  same  woman  as  before. 
What  would  he  have  said,  had  he  known,  that  many  a 
time  and  oft,  Nurse  Isabel's  needlework  fell  from  her 
hands  at  dusk,  and  she  sat  and  thought  of  him,  and 
recalled  all  his  fun  and  criticism,  and  envied  the  woman 
who  had  won  his  heart  —  and  wondered  how  she  would 
be  feeling  if  she  were  that  woman.  Ah  !  she  knew  how 
she  would  be  feeling  —  so  grateful,  so  good,  so  glad  to 
have  found  a  strong  haven  of  strong  love.  And  Nora, 
with  all  that  within  her  reach,  had  turned  away.  But 
that  was  the  irony  of  life.  And  she  herself.  .  .  .  Ah, 
well,  it  was  of  no  use  to  dwell  on  that.  These  thoughts 
came  over  her  now  as  she  sat  opposite  to  him,  and  for 
a  moment  she  was  lost  in  reverie.  Then  she  found 
herself  again. 

"  And  now,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  having  had  this 
15  225 


The  Fowler 

disappointment,  you  are  going  to  return  to  your  old  state 
of  misery  and  depression." 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  am  going  straight  on  with  my 
work  and  my  life.  My  love  for  her  brought  me  back 
to  life  again,  and  I  shall  not  lose  hold  either  of  her 

D  ' 

love  nor  my  life." 

"  Even  although  she  is  going  to  belong  to  some  one 
else  ?  "  Nurse  Isabel  said,  just  a  little  wistfully. 

"  I  can  wait  for  her,"  Brian  answered. 

u  You  may  have  to  wait  all  your  life,"  she  said,  play- 
ing with  her  gloves. 

"  Then  I  must  wait  all  my  life,"  he  replied.  "  Such 
things  happen  to  men  sometimes." 

"  Well,  at  least  you  punished  him  for  his  impu- 
dence in  interfering  with  you,"  she  said,  brightening  up. 
"  Would  that  I  had  been  there  to  see  !  " 

"  Perhaps  it  was  not  impudence  after  all,"  he  said, 
"  if  she  had  really  expressed  the  wish  not  to  see  me." 

"  But  he  made  her  express  the  wish,"  Nurse  Isabel 
answered.  "You  know  that.  Just  as  I  know  that  it 
was  he  who  bade  her  discontinue  my  acquaintanceship." 

"  Some  day,"  Brian  said,  "  she  will  see  clearly  again." 

"  You  have  learnt  to  hope  better  than  in  the  old  days, 
when  no  persuasions  could  make  you  take  a  cheerful 
view  of  life  and  work,"  she  said,  returning  to  her  usual 
rallying  manner.  "  Oh,  my  goodness,  what  a  trial  you 
were  !  And  how  about  the  book  ? " 

Then  as  they  walked  up  Oxford  Street,  he  told  her 
what  he  had  been  doing,  and  how  he  intended  shortly 
to  go  away  to  Holland,  having  been  commissioned  by 
a  publisher  to  write  a  book  on  that  country.  He  was 
also  hoping  to  go  down  in  two  or  three  days'  time  to 
the  King's  Head,  to  seek  comfort  and  renewed  courage 
amidst  the  scenes  where  he  had  first  met  Nora. 

226 


Mrs  Mary  Shaw  as  Comforter 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  said,  as  they  parted. 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  engaged  in  my  usual  occupations  of 
charity  and  loving-kindness,"  she  answered.  "Next 
week  I  am  going  to  nurse  a  bishop.  Now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  dare  say  that  is  what  makes  me  feel  so 
terribly  out  of  spirits.  Well,  good-bye,  and  don't 
forget  to  keep  your  best  foreign  stamps  for  me.  And 
let  me  know  if  you  have  any  news  of  Miss  Penhurst 
and  that  little  Bevan ;  and  if  I  can  serve  you  or  her 
in  any  way,  I  will  leave  all  the  bishops  and  poets  and 
philosophers  to  get  well  or  worse  without  me.  And, 
as  you  know,  I  am  not  afraid  of  little  Bevan.  I  don't 
even  care  that  he  has  been  circulating  evil  reports 
against  my  character.  But  I  care  tremendously  that  he 
has  told  her,  poisoned  her  mind  against  me,  and  cut  me 
off  from  her  friendship.  I  care  about  that  far  more  than 
about  the  untruths  which  he  is  launching  out  against 
me.  For  they  are  untruths.  I  may  be  a  ridiculous, 
frivolous  sort  of  woman,  but  it  has  never  been  anything 
more  than  that  with  me.  You  believe  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  believe  it,"  Brian  said. 

She  nodded  her  head  as  though  satisfied,  and  added  : 

"And  sometimes  I  don't  think  I  am  nearly  as  vain 
and  ridiculous  as  some  of  my  bishops  and  literary  peo- 
ple. Well,  my  first  attempt  to  win  a  woman's  friend- 
ship has  not  been  very  encouraging.  But  I  liked  her 
ever  so  much.  And  the  greatest  proof  of  my  attachment 
to  her  was  .  .  ." 

But  Nurse  Isabel  changed  her  mind,  said  no  more, 
and  sped  on  her  way ;  but  as  she  went  along  she  said 
aloud  to  herself: 

"  And  the  greatest  proof  of  it  was  that  when  he  re- 
covered his  strength,  awoke  from  his  long  depression,  and 
fell  in  love  with  her  instead  of  me,  I  was  not  even  angry 

227 


The  Fowler 

or  jealous.  By  all  the  laws  of  nature,  I  ought  to  have 
hated  her  at  once,  but  instead  of  that,  I  went  on  liking 
her,  even  though  I  was  learning  to  love  him.  Ah,  well, 
he  won't  know.  He  is  so  very  slow  about  these 
things." 

Brian  parted  from  her  without  a  suspicion  of  her  real 
feeling  for  him.  But  he  intended  to  find  out  what  these 
reports  were,  and  to  stop  them  at  once.  She  might  say 
she  did  not  care,  but  he  knew  that  she  was  sensitive 
about  her  good  name,  perhaps  because,  for  her  old 
mother's  sake,  she  had  made  such  mighty  efforts,  against 
her  own  inclinations  and  in  the  midst  of  many  tempta- 
tions, to  keep  it  still  written  down  on  the  right  hand  leaf 
of  the  book  of  morality.  But  he  could  not  help  her 
about  Nora.  He  could  not  help  himself.  A  great  long- 
ing seized  him  to  hasten  his  departure  to  the  King's 
Head.  He  went  home,  put  his  things  together,  and  in  a 
short  time  found  himself  in  the  train  on  his  way  to  the 
land  of  comfort.  He  felt -that  it  would  comfort  him  and 
ease  his  heart  to  be  in  the  village  where  she  had  spent  so 
many  months,  and  where  the  people  knew  and  loved  her 
so  well.  For  the  paths  trodden  by  those  whom  we  love 
become  holy  ground  to  us  for  ever  and  ever.  It  was 
early  summer,  towards  the  end  of  June,  but  there  was  a 
perfect  deluge  of  rain  when  Brian  got  out  at  the  little 
wayside  station  nine  miles  away  from  Graystoke.  He 
had  brought  his  bicycle  with  him,  and  was  just  leaning 
against  it,  contemplating  a  gloomy  and  moist  ride,  when 
a  carrier's  cart  drove  up,  and  David  the  blacksmith's 
cheery  voice  was  heard  saying : 

"  Any  parcels  for  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  ?  " 
Then  he  looked  towards  Brian,  and  recognised  him. 
"  Why,  it's  Mr  Uppingham,  as  I'm  a  live  man  !  " 
In  a  few  moments  Brian  and  his  bicycle   were  com- 
228 


Mrs  Mary  Shaw  as  Comforter 

fortably  installed  in  David's  borrowed  cart,  rattling  along 
the  wet  roads  towards  the  King's  Head. 

"  Mrs  Mary  will  be  that  pleased,"  David  said.  "  She 
won't  mind  her  groceries  not  having  come.  As  a  rule, 
it  do  put  her  out  awful  when  the  grocery  stores  don't 
turn  up.  But  I  reckon,  Mr  Uppingham,  she'd  think 
you  quite  as  good  as  twelve  boxes  of  candles." 

When  they  drew  up  before  the  King's  Head,  about 
seven  in  the  evening,  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  hastened  out  to 
the  carrier's  cart.  The  carrier  was  ill,  and  had  appointed 
David  to  be  his  "  locum  tenens." 

"  Now,  Davy,  look  sharp  and  hand  me  down  my 
groceries,"  Mrs  Mary  said.  "  I  be  that  hustled  to-night. 
Great-uncle  be  took  ill,  and  says  he  be  going  to  die." 

"  Great-uncle  has  said  that  this  last  fifteen  year,  Mrs 
Shaw,"  remarked  Davy.  "  And  as  for  the  groceries, 
they've  never  come.  But  there  be  something  else  for 
you.  Oh  no,  it  aren't  Parrington  !  I  don't  give  Par- 
rington  no  lifts  —  I'm  that  jealous  of  Parrington  — 
always  was,  you  know,  only  you  wouldn't  see  it !  " 

"  Get  along,  Davy,"  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  laughing, 
for  Davy  always  kept  up  the  role  of  being  an  unaccepted 
sweetheart,  although  he  had  never  even  thought  of  mak- 
ing love  to  the  hostess  of  the  King's  Head. 

At  that  moment  Brian,  who  had  kept  in  the  back  of 
the  cart,  leaned  forward,  and  prepared  to  announce 
himself. 

"  Why,  I  do  declare  it  be  Mr  Uppingham,  of  all  peo- 
ple !"  Mrs  Shaw  exclaimed;  and,  forgetting  all  about 
the  much-desired  groceries  and  great-uncle's  dangerous 
illness,  the  genial  landlady  hurried  him  into  the  inn,  and 
whipped  him  up  to  the  glowing  fire,  where  great-uncle 
and  Great-great-aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson  were  basking 
in  the  warmth.  They  did  not  like  to  sit  together,  but 

229 


The  Fowler 

they  were  both  ailing,  and  both  obliged  to  seek  the  com- 
fort of  the  hearth. 

"  Here  be  Mr  Uppingham,"  said  Mrs  Shaw.  "  He 
be  cold  and  damp,  and  he'll  bide  here  until  I've  made 
the  fire  in  the  parly." 

"  Ah,"  said  great-uncle,  whom  no  unexpected  circum- 
stance ever  surprised,  "  so  you  be  come  back,  sir,  just  to 
see  me  a-dying.  I  be  a  dying  man  to-night.  I've  the 
toothache  something  terrible." 

"  Toothache  !  "  replied  Aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson, 
scornfully,  "and  not  a  tooth  in  his  mouth  at  his  age. 
He  be  not  a  dying  man.  'Tis  I  who  be  a-dying,  Mr 
Uppingham,  and  no  one  to  lift  a  finger  for  me  :  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw  never  do  think  of  no  one  but  herself  and 
Parrington;  and  what  Parrington  do  see  to  like  in  her 
is  more  than  I  can  foller,  for  she  be  aging  wonderful 
quick." 

Brian  settled  down  amongst  them,  and  showed  due 
sympathy  with  their  fancied  woes.  Wullie  soon  ap- 
peared, and  from  all  that  could  be  gathered  on  the  sub- 
ject, he  was  evidently  not  yet  following  in  the  footsteps 
of  his  scamp  of  a  father. 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs  Shaw,  as  she  laid  the  cloth  in  the 
parlour,  "Wullie  is  a  remarkable  good  lad  still ;  though 
there's  no  knowing  how  soon  he'll  be  breaking  out. 
Parrington  says  l  stuff  and  nonsense,'  but  I  shakes  my 
head,  Mr  Uppingham,  and  knows  different.  Don't  I, 
Wullie  ?  " 

Wullie,  who  was  bringing  in  a  liberal  supply  of  wood, 
grinned,  as  he  always  did  when  he  heard  these  doleful 
prophecies  of  his  own  unavoidable  damnation,  and  put- 
ting his  hands  up  to  his  cheeks  to  make  a  sort  of  trum- 
pet, said  in  a  loud  whisper  to  Brian : 

"  I  say,  mother  is  a-going  to  marry  Mr  Parrington 
230 


Mrs  Mary  Shaw  as  Comforter 

next  month,  and  that's  why  Aunt  Rebeccah  and  great- 
uncle  be  in  such  a  stew.  And  grandfather  won't  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  everybody  be  as  cross  as  nine- 
pins 'cept  mother  and " 

Wullie  was  clapped  out  of  the  room,  and  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw,  smiling  and  blushing,  answered  Brian's  inquiry  as 
to  whether  the  news  were  really  true. 

"  Well,  yes,  sir,"  she  said,  as  she  sank  down  into  the 
easy-chair.  "  The  fact  is,  I  be  real  sick  of  hearing  Par- 
rington  propose.  And  then,  'twas  only  lately  I  heard 
for  certain  that  Wullie's  father  was  dead,  and  I  didn't 
tell  Parrington.  But  he  learnt  it  hisself.  Parrington  be 
awfully  quick.  And  he  made  me  promise  for  next 
month.  And  I  wrote  Miss  Nora  about  it,  and  there's 
never  a  line  come  from  her.  I've  been  a-fearing  she  is 
ill." 

Then  Brian  told  her  that  Nora  was  engaged  to  Theo- 
dore Bevan,  and  that  her  time  had  been  taken  up  for 
many  months,  and  that  she  was  not  as  bright  and  gay  as 
she  used  to  be  in  Graystoke. 

"  Going  to  marry  that  little  horror!  "  exclaimed  Mrs 
Shaw.  "  I  never  could  abide  him.  It  can't  be  true  ; 
my  Miss  Nora  a-going  to  marry  the  likes  of  him  !  I 
can't  believe  it  of  her,  and  she  so  mighty  particular,  and 
her  head  so  high  in  the  air,  bless  her,  and  quite  right, 
too  :  she  can't  know  what  she's  a-doing.  He's  be- 
witched her  —  the  little  viper  gentleman,  coming  sneak- 
ing along  here  where  nobody  wanted  him :  my  Miss 
Nora  going  to  marry  the  likes  of  him !  " 

Mrs  Shaw's  apron  was  at  that  moment  precipitated 
over  her  head,  and  when  it  fell  back  to  its  wonted  place, 
two  large  tears  were  seen  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  She 
took  her  handkerchief,  rubbed  it  into  her  eyes  and  over 
her  face,  and  then  she  looked  up.  Brian  was  sitting 

231 


The  Fowler 

r 

back  in  his  chair,  with  a  far-away  look,  a  strained  expres- 
sion on  his  face. 

The  woman's  instinct  in  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  revealed 
the  whole  truth  to  her. 

"  Why,  I  believe  you've  been  a-sweethearting  after 
her  yourself,"  she  said,  tenderly.  "  Poor  dear  soul  — 
poor  deaf  soul !  I  remember  how  you  spoke  of  her 
when  you  stayed  here,  and  how  I  was  always  a-telling 
you  all  I  knew  of  our  dear  Miss  Nora  —  and  I  only  too 
glad  to  tell,  being  that  fond  of  her." 

"  And  I  only  too  glad  to  listen,"  he  said,  smiling 
sadly.  "And  I've  come  to  listen  again.  That  is  why 
I've  come.  And  to  be  where  she  has  been,  and 
amongst  the  people  whom  she  has  loved,  and  amongst 
whom  I  found  her  first.  I  felt  that  would  comfort  me." 

"  And  so  it  will,"  said  Mrs  Shaw,  soothingly. 
"  And  don't  ye  take  on  so.  Miss  Nora  will  come  to 
her  senses  soon,  and.  then  you  can  go  a-sweethearting 
after  she.  Lor !  now,  you  mustn't  be  disheartened. 
Think  of  my  poor  Parrington  —  what  a  life  I've  been 
a-leading  him  these  last  three  year  and  more,  never 
knowing  my  own  mind.  And  as  like  as  not,  when  next 
month  comes,  I'll  say,  'No,  Parrington,  I  don't  care  for 
ye  over  much.'  And  yet  I  do  care.  But  women-folk 
is  like  that,  that's  what  they  be  like,  and  a  good  thing 
too,  as  men  folk  be  mighty  troublesome  in  their  way. 
Don't  ye  take  on  so,  Mr  Uppingham.  It'll  all  come 
right ;  and  while  you  be  here,  we'll  talk  of  Miss  Nora 
and  cheer  you  up.  I'm  a  wonderful  hand  at  cheering 
folk  up :  you  should  see  me  with  Great-great-aunt 
Rebeccah  Renaldson  sometimes,  though  I  won't  deny 
that  it  be  a  terrible  task,  and  I  be  always  a-gasping  for 
breath  afterward  —  she  do  take  it  out  of  me.  .  .  .  Now, 
now,  Mr  Uppingham,  you  mustn't  lose  heart  .  .  ." 

232 


The  motherly  manner,  the  quaint  but  very  genuine 
efforts  to  comfort,  touched  Brian  inexpressibly.  He 
was  touched  to  the  very  roots  of  his  sore  heart :  all  his 
disappointment  and  anxiety  welled  up  in  him.  He 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  sobbed,  and  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw,  using  her  own  natural  tact  —  that  beautiful  and 
almost  divine  gift  of  womanhood  —  stole  quietly  out  of 
the  room. 

The  next  morning  was  bright  with  sunshine,  and 
Brian  strolled  in  the  direction  of  the  Castle,  along  the 
road  where  he  had  taken  his  first  drive  with  Nora.  Yes, 
he  remembered  that  old  quaint  thatched  cottage  yonder, 
and  the  crumbling  old  bridge  to  the  left,  and  the  trout 
stream,  and  those  five  enormous  hay-ricks  stationed  like 
sentinels  on  the  slope  of  the  hill.  They  had  only  just 
been  put  up  when  he  saw  them  last,  and  now  they  were 
darker  in  hue,  having  valiantly  borne  the  changes  and 
chances  of  a  long  winter.  Yes,  and  he  remembered 
that  splendid  old  oak-tree  near  the  mill.  Nora  had 
said  it  reminded  her  always  of  her  father,  with  its 
spreading  branches  and  comprehensive  character.  He 
paused  and  listened  to  the  sweet  singing  of  the  birds. 
Nora  knew  their  call-notes  well.  He  passed  on  to  the 
gate-house,  where  she  had  lodged,  and  waited  outside, 
full  of  thoughts  of  her.  Then  he  rang,  and  when  the 
custodian  appeared,  annoyed  as  always  at  being  dis- 
turbed, he  won  her  over  by  speaking  of  Miss  Penhurst, 
and  was  taken  to  the  sitting-room,  where  the  deputy- 
custodian  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours.  Her  photo- 
graph was  there ;  and  two  or  three  of  her  books  were 
scattered  about. 

The  custodian  left  him  there  to  rest,  for  it  was 
washing-day,  and  she  was  busy  and  hoped  that  he 
would  be  able  to  show  himself  over  the  Castle.  So 

233 


The  Fowler 

he  rested,  this  poor  Brian,  and  then  he  strolled  over 
the  Castle  and  lingered  a  long  time  in  the  monk's  room, 
which  he  remembered  had  been  her  favourite  retreat. 
He  looked  at  the  great  expanse  of  country,  which  had 
always  delighted  her  eyes  and  her  sense  of  space,  and  at 
the  river  glistening  with  the  early  summer  sunlight.  As 
he  wended  his  way  back  to  the  King's  Head,  he  stopped 
at  the  beautiful  old  church,  and  glanced  once  more  at 
the  fine  carved  stalls,  and  the  rare  old  leaden  font,  which 
she  herself  had  shown  him  with  so  much  pride  ;  for  she 
loved  the  church  and  everything  in  it.  He  examined 
the  monumental  brasses,  and  the  figures  of  the  Crusaders 
in  the  old  chapel.  He  heard  her  dear  voice  telling  him 
everything. 

"  I'm  as  good  as  a  guide-book  about  these  parts," 
she  had  said  to  him.  "  You  see  I've  been  here  so  often 
that  the  place  is  part  of  me,  and  I  am  part  of  it.  Even 
Mr  Kent,  the  verger,  admits  that  I  belong  here  by 
rights,  for  he  told  me  the  other  day  that  I  would  make 
a  wonderful  nice  brass  or  recumbent  stone  figure,  and 
that  is  the  highest  praise  from  him,  for  he  only  concerns 
himself  about  dead  things." 

He  remembered  her  saying  that,  and  he  remembered 
noticing  that  Mr  Kent's  sepulchral  visage  relaxed  into 
something  like  a  human  smile  when  he  came  into  the 
church  and  found  her  there.  Yes,  they  all  loved  her 
there,  in  their  own  kindly  way.  Even  Great-great-aunt 
Rebeccah  Renaldson  had  nothing  against  her,  and  great- 
uncle  always  said  she  was  a  wonderful  nice  young  person, 
and  very  handy  at  buying  shag.  And  Mrs  Shaw's  quiet 
old  father,  Reuben,  said  she  was  an  intelligent  young 
woman,  and  mighty  clever  at  knowing  a  turnip  from  a 
carrot,  which  was  surprising  in  a  party  as  lived  in  one 
of  them  towns ;  and  David  swore  by  his  smithy's  forge 

234 


that  no  one  except  himself  should  ever  fetch  her  from 
the  station.  It  was  all  very  pleasant  to  hear,  and  Brian 
seemed  to  be  learning  more  of  her,  and  getting  nearer 
to  her  own  real  self  by  means  of  these  simple-hearted 
villagers.  He  felt  soothed  and  comforted,  and  wrote 
at  his  book,  smoked  with  great-uncle,  prepared  herbs 
with  Reuben,  talked  politics  with  David,  commerce 
with  the  travellers  who  baited  at  the  King's  Head,  played 
nine-pins  with  Wullie,  carried  messages  between  Parring- 
ton  and  Mrs  Shaw,  and  acted  as  general  errand-boy  and 
postman  to  the  whole  neighbourhood.  Whenever  he 
was  looking  sad,  Mrs  Shaw  would  say  : 

"  Come,  come,  Mr  Uppingham,  don't  you  be  a-tak- 
ing  on !  It  will  all  come  right.  Think  of  my  poor 
Parrington  !  " 

And  very  often  she  would  come  into  the  parlour,  and 
he  would  put  his  pen  aside,  and  she  would  sink  down 
into  the  easy-chair,  and  talk  of  Nora. 

"  Oh,  deary  me,"  she  said  one  day,  "  and  the  fun 
Miss  Nora  and  me  have  had  over  poor  Parrington ! 
Many  long  lectures  she's  given  me  to  behave  myself 
kinder,  and  I've  promised ;  and  then  when  Parrington 
has  come,  I've  been  real  nasty  !  And  Miss  Nora  have 
pretended  to  be  angry,  and  then  have  laughed  hearty." 

"  I  think  I  shall  begin  to  say  c  Poor  Parrington,' " 
remarked  Brian,  laughing  too. 

"  Oh,  he  don't  take  on,  really,"  answered  Mrs  Shaw. 
"  And  if  he  do,  it  won't  hurt  the  likes  of  him,  bless 
him  !  Parrington  isn't  one  to  fret  greatly.  Ah,  there, 
I  hear  his  voice.  Tiresome  man,  coming  where  he's 
not  wanted  !  " 

"  And  where  be  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  I  wonder  ? " 
Parrington's  voice  was  heard  saying.  "  A  nice  sort  of 
landlady  for  the  Punchbowl." 

235 


The  Fowler 

"  The  Punchbowl  indeed ! "  remarked  Mrs  Shaw, 
scornfully.  "  As  if  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  would  ever  have 
anything  to  do  with  that  horrid  place." 

"  Here  be  three  teetotallers  asking  for  port  wine," 
continued  Parrington,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  and  two  carters 
for  a  mug  of  ale,  and  no  one  to  serve  'em.  What  a 
badly  managed  establishment !  I  don't  think  anything 
of  this  King's  Head  :  'tis  a  mighty  poor  shanty." 

"  Shanty  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  pretending 
to  be  angry,  but  wreathed  in  smiles.  "  Did  you  hear 
that,  Mr  Uppingham  ?  —  shanty,  indeed  !  Oh,  I'll  pay 
Parrington  out." 

Then  she  darted  out  of  the  "  parly  "  to  pay  Parrington 
out,  and  Brian  was  left  to  his  work  and  his  own 
thoughts.  But  later  on,  he  emerged  and  went  into  the 
kitchen,  which  also  served  as  the  bar  of  the  inn,  though 
there  was  a  sort  of  division  effected  by  the  kitchen- 
table.  Parrington  was  smoking  a  pipe  on  the  domestic 
side  of  the  barrier.  Brian  joined  him,  and  said  out  of 
pure  mischief: 

"  And  so  I  hear,  Mr  Parrington,  that  you  and  Mrs 
Mary  are  to  be  married  in  a  month's  time  ?  " 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Mrs  Mary,  pausing  as  she  took 
the  bread  out  of  the  oven,  "  that's  the  first  I've  heard 
of  it,  as  I'm  a  live  woman." 

Parrington  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  winked  at 
Brian,  and  pointed  to  the  old  beams. 

"  This  old  place  be  a-crumbling  to  pieces,  Mr  Up- 
pingham," he  said.  "  It  be  not  safe  for  nobody.  I 
declare  I'm  always  mighty  glad  to  get  away  from  this 
old  shanty  back  to  the  Punchbowl  ! " 


236 


Part   III 

CHAPTER   I 

THE    MICROMETER 

So  the  time  wore  on.  Summer  had  passed  into  winter, 
and  it  was  more  than  eighteen  months  now  since 
Theodore  Bevan  had  come  as  a  disturbing  element  into 
the  lives  of  Nora  and  Roger  Penhurst.  After  Nora  had 
declared  her  decision  to  be  engaged  to  Theodore  Bevan, 
and  refused  to  be  won  over  by  any  entreaty,  her  father 
interviewed  him,  and  told  him  that  the  engagement  was 
against  all  his  wishes  and  judgment,  and  that  nothing 
would  ever  reconcile  him  to  it. 

"  I  understand  that  it  does  not  meet  with  your  ap- 
proval," Bevan  said,  quietly.  "  I  am  of  course  very 
sorry.  It  would  have  been  more  agreeable  for  both  of 
us  if  you  could  have  liked  me  a  little  —  or  disliked  me 
less." 

"  You  will  never  make  my  girl  happy,"  Roger  said. 
"  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"You  certainly  court  the  unhappiness  by  taking  up 
this  tone  with  me,"  Bevan  answered. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  Roger  Penhurst  answered, 
brusquely,  and  he  said  no  more  about  it.  It  was,  in  fact, 
useless.  Moreover,  it  was  so  obvious  that  Theodore 
Bevan  was  indifferent  to  the  old  man's  approval  or  dis- 
approval. He  was  quite  frank  about  his  monetary 

237 


The  Fowler 

position  :  explained  the  resources  of  his  private  income, 
and  mentioned  that  he  occasionally  added  to  it  by  special 
journalistic  work.  He  seemed  to  have  no  relatives  nor 
friends  ;  and  therefore  Nora  had  not  to  go  through  any 
formalities  of  introduction. 

"  I  belong  to  no  one,"  he  said  to  her,  almost  patheti- 
cally ;  "  I  am  alone  in  the  world." 

The  condition  of  things  at  the  Penhursts'  home  did 
not  change  after  the  engagement,  and  Roger  Penhurst 
went  his  own  way,  sometimes  spending  long  days  in  the 
country  and  coming  back  tired  out.  When  at  home,  he 
was  more  deeply  engaged  in  reading  and  study.  He 
began  to  learn  Persian,  and  some  learned  friends  from 
the  British  Museum  came  three  times  a-week  to  give 
him  lessons.  That  was  some  comfort  to  him,  for  he 
was  never  so  happy  as  when  adding  to  his  knowledge. 
But  he  looked  sad  and  nipped,  and  he  neglected  his 
music.  He  missed  her  sympathy  with  it.  She  had 
taken  a  dislike  to  music,  influenced  of  course  by  Theo- 
dore Bevan,  who  openly  declared  his  scorn  of  the  loveliest 
of  all  languages.  Nora  had  no  idea  how  her  indifference 
wounded  her  old  father.  But  Brian  knew,  for  Roger 
had  got  into  the  way  of  talking  to  him  freely  about 
everything ;  and  the  historian's  comfortable  lodgings  in 
Mecklenburg  Square  had  become  the  old  man's  haven, 
where  he  felt  he  was  always  welcome.  It  was  touching 
to  see  the  two  friends  together  —  each  one  sad  at  heart, 
and  united  by  a  common  anxiety  and  affection.  They 
very  rarely  spoke  of  Theodore  Bevan,  but  Roger  said 
once  or  twice  that  Nora's  infatuation  was  as  strong  as 
ever,  and  that  she  seemed  to  have  given  up  all  her  old 
friends,  inclinations,  and  interests.  Mr  Bevan  disliked 
the  idea  of  her  teaching,  and  so  she  had  resigned  two  or 
three  of  her  posts.  He  also  disliked  her  going  to  the 

238 


The  Micrometer 

Woman's  Club,  and  so  she  had  not  resumed  her  sub- 
scription. Brian  asked  sometimes : 

"  And  is  she  happy  ?  Does  she  look  happy  ?  Is  she 
bright  ? " 

"  Ah,  that  is  just  it,"  the  old  man  would  answer, 
sadly  —  "  Is  she  happy  ?  I  can  only  tell  you  that  when 
he  does  not  come,  she  is  miserable.  And  she  has  on  her 
dear  face  '  the  settled  shadow  of  an  inward  strife.' >: 

"  Does  he  seem  fond  of  her  ?  "  Brian  would  ask. 

"  Could  a  man  like  that  be  fond  of  any  one  ? "  Roger 
invariably  answered. 

Yet,  in  a  way,  Theodore  Bevan  was  fond  of  her,  and 
Roger  did  not  altogether  do  him  justice.  He  was  proud 
at  having  subdued  her  individuality ;  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  felt  the  beginnings  of  something 
like  affection.  He  knew  of  course  that  she  did  not  love 
him,  and  that  it  was  only  his  strong  influence  over  her 
which  brought  about  her  consent  to  the  engagement. 
But  he  was  not  uneasy  about  that :  the  main  point  was 
that  he  was  training  her,  moulding  her,  and  making 
himself  necessary  to  her.  Sometimes  he  kept  away  on 
purpose :  for  he  knew  that  she  would  fret  and  be  rest- 
less, like  some  dumb  animal  which  pines  for  its  master, 
even  though  he  be  a  cruel  one.  It  was  all  very  engross- 
ing to  him  ;  and  although  he  had  amused  and  interested 
himself  many  a  time  before  on  the  same  lines,  there  had 
never  been  even  a  dash  of  sentiment  in  his  previous 
experiments.  He  appreciated  this  new  sensation,  and 
commented  on  it  in  his  journal. 

He  wrote  : 

"  It  is  very  odd  how  pleased  I  feel  when  any  sad 
remark  of  mine  concerning  my  lonely  life  or  my  small 
stature  touches  up  my  Athene's  tenderness.  Of  course 
I  have  never  been  lonely.  And  as  for  my  small  stature, 

239 


The  Fowler 

—  I  would  not  change  with  any  one  —  but  Athene's 
sympathy  with  my  fancied  woes  is  extremely  agreeable 
to  me.  I  enjoy  it." 

And  again  in  another  place : 

"  Occasionally  I  stay  away  from  my  Athene  in  order 
that  I  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  being  missed." 

And  elsewhere : 

"  I  should  not  have  precipitated  myself  into  this  en- 
gagement with  my  Athene,  if  I  had  not  feared  that 
Uppingham's  influence  over  her  was  increasing  unduly. 
As  it  was,  I  only  arrived  just  in  time  to  prevent  the 
climax  of  an  engagement  between  them.  Strangely 
enough,  I  had  not  intended  to  go  to  her  home  that 
evening;  but  a  sudden  access  of  jealousy  prompted  me 
to  change  my  plans  ;  and  by  an  adroitness  which,  I  con- 
fess, astonishes  me  now,  I  wrested  the  situation  to  my- 
self. I  worked,  as  always,  on  her  sympathies,  harping, 
of  course,  on  my  many  disabilities  and  shortcomings, 
which  have  ever  ostracised  me  from  the  realms  of  Being 
Understood  and  Being  Loved.  I  do  not  regret  my 
prompt  action.  Sometimes  I  think  that  the  most  desir- 
able part  of  my  life  would  be  taken  away  if  I  lost 
Athene." 

And  elsewhere  : 

"  Uppingham's  insult  to  me  has  so  far  passed  un- 
noticed. There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  except  to 
remain  quiet,  until  I  had  thought  out  some  plan  of 
revenge.  Meantime,  he  is  sufficiently  punished  by  my 
appropriation  of  his  Nora  —  and  just  as  he  had  almost 
secured  her ;  and  Athene  is  grateful  to  me  for  ignor- 
ing the  episode.  My  self-control  in  this  matter  makes 
her  think  well  of  me.  It  is  a  great  satisfaction  when 
some  one,  to  whom  you  are  not  absolutely  indifferent, 
thinks  well  of  you :  whether  you  deserve  it  or  not. 

240 


The  Micrometer 

So  Uppingham  may  rest  in  peace  awhile,  and  I  have 
already  been  dealing  with  Nurse  Isabel  and  little  Madge 
Carson." 

And  indeed  Nora  was  greatly  impressed  by  the  sweet 
patience  with  which  he  had  borne  Brian  Uppingham's 
insult.  She  did  not  know  in  what  terms  Theodore 
Bevan  had  couched  his  letter  to  Uppingham,  and  he 
did  not  enlighten  her.  It  was  a  delicate  matter ;  for 
she  knew  in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  she  had  wronged 
Brian,  and  her  own  feeling  of  uneasiness  about  him 
made  her  grateful  for  Bevan's  forbearance. 

"  It  is  for  your  sake,"  Bevan  told  her,  quietly.  And 
he  added,  as  though  fearing  that  she  might  perhaps  be 
too  hard  on  the  historian,  "  You  must  forgive  him, 
remembering  that  he  has  had  a  sore  trial  in  losing 
you." 

"  You  are  very  generous,"  Nora  said,  with  sincere 
admiration.  "  You  bear  no  malice.  I  have  noticed 
that  in  your  behaviour  towards  my  father.  He  has 
often  been  very  rude  to  you,  and  you  never  seem  to 
notice." 

"  I  have  only  been  learning  the  lesson  since  I  knew 
you,"  he  said.  "  Sometimes,  I  own,  it  has  been  a  hard 
one." 

And  he  went  away  gratified  with  her  praise,  although 
he  knew  that  it  was  he  who  countless  times  had  been 
rude  to  her  father  —  ignoring  him,  and  deliberately 
pushing  him  out  of  his  home  and  happiness ;  alienating 
his  daughter  from  him,  and  in  such  a  way  that  she  never 
guessed.  He  smiled  when  he  thought  of  the  malice 
which  he  always  bore  towards  people  who  were  in  his 
way,  and  yet,  recognising  all  this,  he  was  delighted  by 
her  belief  in  his  generosity  of  mind  and  action. 

Perhaps  he  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  really  what 
16  241 


The  Fowler 

she  considered  him  to  be.  It  is  so  easy  even  for  the 
best  of  us  to  persuade  ourselves  that  we  are  better  than 
we  are.  But  whilst  he  was  thus  enjoying  Nora's  good 
opinion  of  him,  he  was  silently  working  against  Nurse 
Isabel  and  Madge  Carson,  who  had  had  the  courage  to 
warn  his  Athene  against  him.  And  the  two  opposite 
processes  going  on  at  the  same  time,  did  not  interfere 
with  each  other.  He  was  evidently  in  a  state  of  great 
satisfaction.  One  special  entry  in  his  journal  points  to 
this : — 

"  I  never  remember  feeling  so  well  satisfied  with  my- 
self. When  I  think  of  Athene  now,  and  compare  her 
with  that  masterful  and  scornful  young  woman  who 
was  acting  as  Deputy-Custodian  at  the  Castle,  I  am 
lost  in  wonderment  over  the  mesmeric,  psychic  influ- 
ence which  some  human  beings  have  over  others :  an 
influence  inborn  and  never  acquired.  But  Athene  gives 
trouble,  in  spite  of  my  strong  hold  over  her.  She  has 
curious  relapses  to  her  old  interests,  her  old  friends, 
her  old  intimacy  with  her  father.  It  keeps  me  very 
much  interested ;  more  so,  of  course,  than  if  she  had 
merely  been  a  woolly  lamb.  Still,  I  find  I  have  to  be 
careful  how  I  criticise  her  former  life  and  the  contents 
thereof.  The  other  day  an  unwisely-worded  disparage- 
ment about  that  wretched  old  Danish  professor,  who  is 
always  discovering  new  geniuses,  evoked  undoubted 
signs  of  rebellion.  All  this,  however,  gives  a  real  zest 
to  my  undertaking,  and  I  am  almost  inclined  to  believe 
I  am  experiencing  what  we  call  happiness  —  whatever 
that  may  mean." 

He  was  right  in  saying  that  he  had  to  be  careful  how 
he  criticised  Nora's  former  life,  and  every  one  and 
everything  that  belonged  to  it.  He  was  much  too  wary 
to  make  many  mistakes ;  and  his  micrometer,  that  evil 

242 


The  Micrometer 

little  instrument  of  disparagement,  probed  into  and 
measured  every  fault  and  failing,  every  characteristic  and 
detail,  but  so  delicately  that  the  mechanism  was  not 
detected.  So  Nora  never  knew  how  it  happened  that 
most  people  became  uninteresting  to  her,  or  full  of  faults, 
or  ridiculous,  or  objects  of  contempt  and  indifference. 
Perhaps  it  was  an  indulgent  sort  of  contempt  which 
took  the  greatest  possession  of  her.  No  one  escaped ; 
and  when  she  received  a  letter  from  Mrs  Mary  Shaw 
announcing  in  mysterious  spelling  and  grammar  her 
definite  engagement  to  Mr  William  Parrington  of  the 
Punchbowl,  she  tossed  the  note  on  one  side,  and  wondered 
how  she  could  ever  have  taken  an  interest  in  those 
ignorant  country  people  at  Graystoke.  The  micrometer 
had  thus  been  applied  to  those  simple,  honest  villagers, 
whom  she  had  known  for  years.  It  was  never  applied 
directly  to  Nora's  dear  old  father,  but  to  Old  Age  in- 
stead. And  the  fine,  spreading  old  oak,  with  its  mag- 
nificent branches  and  defiantly  robust  roots,  became  an 
impertinent  lingerer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  demand- 
ing too  much  space,  too  much  consideration  —  taking  in 
every  advantage  and  giving  out  none. 

It  was  perhaps  the  cleverest  thing  Bevan  did,  the 
way  in  which  he  alienated  Nora  from  her  father  without 
ever  saying  one  word  against  him.  And  Roger  himself 
helped  his  enemy  by  his  own  impetuosity  and  want  of 
judgment;  for  although  he  made  numberless  resolutions 
pick  up  the  old  threads  of  friendship  with  Nora,  and 
accept  Theodore  Bevan  as  an  inevitable  fact  in  his  life, 
he  always  failed  in  all  his  efforts.  He  could  not  conquer 
his  intense  dislike  for  the  man,  nor  his  bitter  disappoint- 
ment in  Nora.  His  existence  would  have  been  intoler- 
able during  this  period,  but  for  his  friendship  with  Brian, 
and  their  constant  intercourse  together,  broken  into  only 

243 


The  Fowler 

by  Brian's  visit  to  Holland  and  afterwards  to  Norway. 
During  the  historian's  absence  Roger  plunged  still 
deeper  into  Persian,  but  the  joy  of  life  had  gone  from 
him,  and,  with  it,  some  of  that  wonderful  vitality  which 
is  able  to  keep  old  age  at  bay.  He  did  not  attempt  any 
summer-outing,  but  he  often  found  his  way  into  the 
Abbey,  and  there  he  would  linger,  sometimes  in  the 
cloisters,  and  sometimes  in  the  Poets'  Corner.  He  very 
rarely  spoke  of  Brian  to  Nora ;  and  she  had  no  idea 
how  much  of  his  time  was  spent  with  the  man  who 
loved  her  and  was  waiting  for  her.  She  tried  to  put 
Brian  out  of  her  remembrance,  but  once  she  asked  her 
father  timidly  about  him. 

"  Is  he  well  —  and  is  he  working  —  is  he  satisfied 
with  what  he  has  done —  do  you  see  him  sometimes  ?  " 

And  her  father  answered  : 

"Yes,  I  see  him.  He  is  well,  but  sad.  And  he  is 
very  busy.  Brave  men  do  not  give  up  their  life's  work 
because  women  break  their  hearts." 

After  that,  Nora  did  not  dare  make  any  further  in- 
quiries, and  was  thrown  back  on  herself;  and  many  of 
her  timid  renewals  of  intimacy  were  cut  short  in  this 
way.  But  the  estrangement  between  the  two  was 
inevitable,  and  nothing  could  have  helped  the  situation. 
They  probably  knew  this ;  and  as  time  went  on,  and 
the  micrometer  became  more  perfect  in  its  mechanism, 
Nora  ceased  to  care,  or  thought  she  did.  But  there 
were  no  more  scenes  between  them ;  for  at  least 
indifference  has  this  advantage,  that  it  often  produces 
tranquillity.  But  one  afternoon  towards  the  end  of  Janu- 
ary, Roger  Penhurst  came  home  in  a  state  of  unusual 
agitation,  and  found  Nora  alone  in  the  sitting-room. 
She  was  working  at  some  coloured  embroidery,  and  in 
a  lifeless,  listless  manner,  which  always  irritated  him. 

244 


The  Micrometer 

"  That  little  devil  of  yours  has  been  trying  to  take 
away  Nurse  Isabel's  character,"  he  said. 

"  Nurse  Isabel  had  no  character  to  take  away,"  Nora 
said,  with  provoking  quietness.  "  Mr  Bevan  warned 
me  against  her  some  time  ago,  and  as  I  do  not  care  to 
have  people  of  that  description  for  my  acquaintances,  I 
asked  her,  as  you  know,  to  discontinue  her  visits." 

"  You  mean  that  Bevan  coerced  you  into  snubbing 
her,"  Roger  said. 

"  As  you  please,  father,"  Nora  said,  flinching  slightly. 
41  You  know  I  never  quarrel  with  you  now  about  Mr 
Bevan." 

"  It  is  a  lifelong  quarrel,  Nora,"  he  said.  "  And  for 
my  own  part,  the  sooner  you  get  married,  the  better." 

"  We  fixed  the  date  for  about  four  months  from 
to-day,"  Nora  said,  putting  down  her  work,  and  looking 
up  at  her  father. 

"  And  I  wish  it  were  to-morrow  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in 
his  impetuous  way.  Then,  with  the  penitence  so  char- 
acteristic of  him,  he  said  : 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  mean  that,  my  girl.  I  would  rather 
wait  year  after  year,  going  along  even  in  this  miserable 
fashion,  than  hasten  on,  by  one  moment,  your  marriage 
with  Theodore  Bevan.  For  I  am  always,  always  hoping 
that  the  awakening  may  come." 

Nora  made  no  answer,  but  went  on  impassively  with 
her  needlework. 

"  The  awakening  will  come  of  its  own  accord  and  in 
its  own  time,"  Roger  said,  gently. 

"  And  you  have  been  doing  your  best  to  hinder  it," 
she  said.  "  Your  unreasonable  dislike  of  Mr  Bevan 
first  opened  my  eyes  to  his  real  worth ;  and  now  you 
attempt  to  poison  my  mind  against  him  by  accusing 
him  of  defaming  Nurse  Isabel's  character.  He  has 

245 


The  Fowler 

merely  warned  me  of  her,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to 
him." 

"  He  has  done  far  more  than  that,"  Roger  said,  becom- 
ing excited  again.  "He  has  circulated  evil  reports  of 
her  which  have  reached  the  notice  of  some  of  her  best 
doctors.  But  she  has  a  warm  friend  in  me,  and  I  shall 
do  all  I  can  for  her.  And  she  has  another  friend  too, 
Brian  Uppingham,  who  will  not  rest  until  everything  is 
set  right  again  —  as  far  as  such  mischief-making  can 
ever  be  set  right." 

"Mr  Uppingham  may  well  defend  Nurse  Isabel," 
Nora  said,  slowly.  "  It  is  a  relief  to  hear  that  a  man 
will  speak  up  for  a  woman,  when  he  has  been  one  of  the 
many  to  help  to  drag  her  down.  Oh,  I  know  about 
Brian  Uppingham  and  Nurse  Isabel." 

Roger  Penhurst  glanced  in  astonishment  at  his 
daughter. 

"  My  poor  Nora,"  he  said,  "  if  that  is  how  you  see 
things  now,  may  God  help  your  distorted  vision." 

In  this  way  the  micrometer  had  been  deftly  applied  to 
Brian  Uppingham  also. 


246 


The  First  Step 

CHAPTER   II 

THE     FIRST    STEP 

ONE  day  Theodore  Bevan  told  Nora  that  his  friends, 
Mr  and  Mrs  Cummings,  had  returned  from  Australia, 
and  that  he  should  like  to  call  on  them  with  her.  He 
professed  to  have  a  great  admiration  for  Mr  Cummings ; 
called  him  a  prince  amongst  men,  a  born  statesman,  the 
only  possible  saviour  of  England.  Nora  herself  was 
anxious  to  see  the  sole  human  being  who  could  inspire 
such  enthusiasm  in  the  heart  of  her  little  lover.  He 
commented,  too,  on  the  delightful  friendship  existing 
between  husband  and  wife.  When  Nora  went  to  their 
home  at  Kensington,  she  found  a  timid,  half-toned 
woman,  who  seemed  to  have  no  soul,  no  will  of  her 
own.  Her  speech  was  painfully  hesitating,  as  though 
she  were  apologising  for  every  word  she  said  —  and  she 
did  not  dare  say  much.  As  she  made  her  few  feeble 
remarks,  she  turned  in  a  half-frightened  manner  to  her 
husband.  When  he  and  Bevan  went  out  of  the  draw- 
ing-room to  the  library,  Mrs  Cummings  became  a  little 
easier,  gathered  herself  together,  and  talked  about  a 
few  commonplaces.  But  the  light  soon  faded  from  her 
eyes ;  and  when  her  husband  returned,  the  little  fee- 
ble gleam  of  individuality  had  faded  into  nothingness. 
It  was  a  painful  exhibition.  Cummings  himself  was  a 
strong  tall  man,  deliberately  aggressive,  with  a  strong 
brain,  and  not  hampered  by  even  the  remnant  of  a  heart. 
Bevan  treated  him  with  the  greatest  respect ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  Cummings  appreciated  the  homage  of 
his  friend.  The  hero  was  affably  condescending  to 

247 


The  Fowler 

Nora,  and  took  some  pains  to  talk  down  to  her.  His  con- 
descension aroused  some  of  her  old  spirit,  and  she  began 
to  argue  with  him.  It  was  something  about  technical 
education.  Then  she  looked  up,  became  conscious  of 
Theodore  Bevan,  and  suddenly  laid  down  all  her  weapons. 
When  she  went  away  she  thought  to  herself: 

"  I  shall  become  like  that  woman,  Mrs  Cummings. 
Is  it  possible  that  I  am  half-way  there  already  ?  " 

And  that  was  the  first  step  towards  the  awakening, 
the  only  first  step  possible,  because  made  by  herself. 
She  did  not  know  at  the  time  that  she  had  taken  it. 
We  probably  do  not  know ;  but  when  we  look  back  at 
the  path,  we  say  :  "  Ah  yes,  it  was  there  —  it  was  there 
that  we  took  the  first  step,  and  by  ourselves,  unaided." 
That  is  where  the  value  of  it  comes  in  to  us  :  it  was  on 
our  own  initiative.  Yet  if  we  looked  back  still  further 
and  were  honest,  we  should  discover  the  almost  invisible 
wires  of  communication  and  impulse  which  were  the 
direct  causes  of  that  first  step. 

Theodore  Bevan  realised  that  he  had  committed  an 
error  of  judgment  in  taking  his  Athene  to  the  Cummings'. 
He  wrote  in  his  journal :  — 

"The  visit  to  the  Cummings'  was  a  mistake.  My 
Athene  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  impressed  with  Mrs 
Cummings'  misery  and  mental  servitude.  She  has  re- 
ferred to  her  several  times,  and  to  him  too. 

"c  What  a  man,'  she  has  said,  c  and  what  a  marriage  ! 
And  that  is  your  ideal  of  a  prince  amongst  men  !  And 
that  is  your  ideal  of  the  married  state  ?  What  a  picture 
it  gives  to  me  of  your  real  self! ' 

"  It  was  foolish  of  me  to  take  her  there.  My  Athene 
was  not  ready  for  it.  I  have  striven  in  every  way 
to  wipe  out  the  remembrance.  I  have  overdone  my 
strength  a  little,  and  thus  enlisted  her  sympathy  and 

248 


The  First  Step 

kindness ;  I  have  been  affectionate  and  dictatorial  by 
turns ;  sad,  bitter,  and  repentant,  and  finally  I  have  won 
her  back.  But  it  is  very  astonishing  to  me  how  much  I 
really  suffer  when  she  does  turn  upon  me.  I  pretend  to 
believe  that  I  am  only  annoyed  at  being  thwarted.  But 
the  fact  remains  that  I  am  wounded."  .  .  . 

Soon  after  this,  Nora  woke  up  one  morning  with  an 
insatiable  thirst  for  a  draught  of  her  old  life.  She  had 
neglected  all  her  friends,  given  up  all  her  interests ;  and 
people  and  things  had  been  passing  out  of  her  life  as 
they  of  necessity  must,  when  there  is  no  encouragement 
for  them  to  remain.  Where  should  she  go  to-day  ? 
what  should  she  do  ?  She  thought  she  would  like  to  go 
down  to  the  British  Museum  and  see  some  of  her  old 
associates  there,  including  dear  old  Professor  Frimodt ; 
and  then,  perhaps,  she  would  call  in  at  Mrs  Ellerton's 
and  perhaps  they  would  both  look  in  at  the  Club.  The 
programme  smiled  to  her  for  the  moment,  and  she 
hastened  to  carry  it  out,  and  soon  found  herself  in  the 
Professor's  den. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  smoothing  down  his  nose,  as  he  always 
did  when  he  was  particularly  pleased.  "  If  Justice  were 
properly  carried  out  in  this  world,  you  would  not  be 
allowed  to  see  your  old  Professor  again,  having  neglected 
him  so  long.  Fortunately  for  us  all,  my  sweet  young 
miss,  Justice  generally  miscarries  !  And  Monsieur,  your 
attendant  ? " 

"  He  is  not  with  me,"  Nora  said,  smiling  a  little  timidly. 

"  Ah,  excellent !  "  said  the  Professor,  rubbing  his  hands 
together.  "  What  ?  Gone,  dead,  buried  like  my  famous 
poets  ?  Tant  mieux  !  " 

"  No,  no ; "  said  Nora,  "  I  only  meant  he  was  not 
with  me  to-day." 

"Ah,  well,"    said   the   Professor,  thoughtfully,   "but 
249 


The  Fowler 

you  may  always  kill  and  bury  him  when  you  wish.     It 
is  so  simple,  my  sweet  young  miss." 

"  Is  it  so  simple,  Professor  ? "  she  asked,  with  a 
strange  appeal  in  her  voice. 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  he  said,  looking  at  her  closely. 
Then  he  added : 

"  Nothing  easier,  indeed !  See  how  I  arrange  with 
my  poor  poets.  Ah,  I  have  a  long  list  of  dead  bodies. 
Come,  Mademoiselle  Nora,  look  at  it  —  and  here  are 
some  of  their  immortal  poems  which  perished  in  one 
moment !  You  remember  your  Danish  ?  Of  course  — 
of  course.  Now  you  see,  this  rascal  knew  how  to  write 
when  he  said  those  words  about  Liberty.  But  he  had 
to  die.  It  was  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  rascal, 
And  it  is  always  like  that  with  your  old  Professor  —  such 
cruel  disappointments  —  always  in  trouble  !  " 

Nora  read  the  poem  aloud  in  Danish,  much  to  the 
Professor's  satisfaction.  She  herself  had  brightened  up 
wonderfully,  and  there  was  a  flush  of  pleasure  and 
awakened  interest  on  her  pale  face.  She  felt  the  re- 
newal of  life  in  her. 

"  Why  have  I  left  all  this  ?  "  she  thought. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Professor,  taking  off  his  gold-rimmed 
spectacles  and  polishing  them.  "  I  have  killed  and 
buried  a  great  number  of  these  rascals  during  my  long 
life.  I  assure  you,  Mademoiselle,  it  was  only  one  rascal 
I  spared.  He  was  a  great  one.  I  did  once  think 
wonders  of  him !  He  was  to  be  my  prince  of  poets, 
and  for  a  long  time  I  believed  in  him  (no  one  else  did), 
and  I  had  not  the  cruel  heart  to  kill  him.  For  it  was 
myself —  your  old  Professor.  Perhaps  I  still  choose  to 
believe  in  that  rogue,  but  no  one  knows  except  my- 
self—  and  now  you.  See,  I  have  told  you  a  secret ! 
And  why  have  I  told  you  ? " 

250 


The  First  Step 

"  I  don't  know,  Professor,"  Nora  said,  smiling  kindly 
at  her  old  comrade,  who  had  been  good  to  her  for  so 
many  years. 

"  Because,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  fidgeting  with 
some  printed  sheets  which  lay  on  his  table,  "  because  I 
wanted  to  make  the  impression  on  you  that  the  last 
rascal  one  must  ever  think  of  killing  and  burying  is  one's 
self.  Voila  !  There  is  a  puzzle  for  you." 

Then  he  showed  her  some  rare  new  books  and  curi- 
ous old  manuscripts,  and  finally  took  her  to  the  door. 

"  There  will  be  no  admittance  after  more  than  six 
weeks'  truancy,"  he  said,  putting  his  finger  up  in  playful 
warning.  "  By  that  time  I  shall  find  a  new  genius,  and 
Mademoiselle  Nora  and  I  will  bury  him  together  ! " 

But  when  she  was  gone  he  sat  in  his  chair,  folded  his 
arms,  and  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  Her  dear  old  father  was  right,"  he  said.  "  She 
has  changed  sadly.  My  sweet  Mademoiselle  Nora. 
She  has  a  tender  place  in  my  tough  old  heart.  Ah,  if  one 
could  be  young  again.  Well,  well,  and  now  to  work." 

Nora  meanwhile,  passing  on  her  way  to  Mrs  Ellerton's, 
said  to  herself: 

"  My  kind  old  Professor.  And  I  had  not  seen  him 
for  fifteen  months." 

Then  she  began  wondering  why  she  had  not  seen  him 
or  any  of  her  friends ;  and  when  the  remembrance  of 
Theodore  Bevan  stole  over  her  as  though  in  answer  to 

O 

her  unconscious  questioning,  the  old  indifference  and 
lethargy  returned  with  a  sudden  bound.  And  although 
she  was  within  ten  minutes  of  Mrs  Ellerton's  cosy 
little  flat,  where  she  knew  a  warm  welcome  awaited 
her  at  any  time,  she  retraced  her  steps  and  came  straight 
home,  impelled  to  do  so  but  much  against  her  real 
inclination. 

251 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER    III 

MADGE    CARSON    IN    DISTRESS 

NORA  relapsed  into  her  usual  state  of  indifference  to 
every  one  except  Theodore  Bevan.  It  so  happened, 
too,  that  he  had  an  accident  with  his  lamp,  and  burnt 
his  right  hand  severely.  This  occurrence,  particularly 
trying  to  him  in  one  way,  was  opportune  in  another, 
for  it  gave  him  a  renewed  hold  on  Nora,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  gratified  that  part  of  his  strange  nature  which 
was  becoming  more  and  more  susceptible  to  tender  in- 
fluences. At  this  time  there  were  only  a  few  left-handed 
scrawls  in  the  journal.  This  was  one  of  them  : 

"  My  right  hand  severely  burnt.  Great  hindrance, 
but  curious  example  of  compensation  in  my  Athene's 
renewed  kindness  and  submissiveness,  which  seemed 
to  be  in  jeopardy  after  that  unfortunate  visit  to  the 
Cummings'." 

This  was  another : 

"  Pain  in  hand  still  bad.  But  I  greatly  enjoy  my 
Athene's  anxious  kindness  to  me.  There  would  almost 
seem  to  be  a  luxury  in  suffering,  when  some  one  is  good 
enough  to  be  sympathetic." 

A  few  days  after  Bevan's  health  had  become  more 
normal  again,  and  the  thermometer  of  anxiety  and  sym- 
pathy had  also  returned  to  the  normal,  Mrs  Ellerton 
called,  on  the  chance  of  finding  Nora  at  home ;  and  the 
two  friends,  who  had  not  seen  each  other  for  many 
months,  settled  down  for  a  long  and  cosy  chat.  Nora 
was  delighted  to  see  her  old  playmate,  and  it  was  almost 

252 


Madge  Carson  in  Distress 

pathetic  how  she  broke  through  her  listlessness  and  in- 
difference. Mrs  Ellerton  had  been  away  for  a  long 
time,  travelling  about,  as  usual,  in  search  of  health  for 
her  husband. 

"Of  course,  my  dear,  we  shall  never  find  it,"  she  said, 
cheerfully.  "  We  continue  to  go  to  all  the  health-resorts 
strongly  recommended  by  all  the  leading  doctors,  who 
have  never  been  to  them.  I  notice  that  the  distances 
prescribed  for  us  are  becoming  greater  and  greater.  A 
few  thousand  miles  are  being  added  each  time  to  our 
various  destinations.  I  cannot  possibly  imagine  where 
we  shall  be  sent  next.  Meanwhile,  I  am  thankful  to  say 
we  are  stationary  for  a  few  minutes  in  a  flat  in  Kensing- 
ton. It  is  a  great  rest,  and  I  am  enjoying  myself  deeply. 
And  I  have  taken  the  first  opportunity  of  coming  over  to 
see  you." 

"  I  nearly  came  to  see  you  the  other  day,"  Nora  said, 
"but  I  turned  back  half-way.  I  felt  I  wanted  to  have  a 
long  talk  with  you." 

u  Arid  then  you  changed  your  mind  when  you  were 
near  me,"  Mrs  Ellerton  said,  quaintly.  "That  did 
not  say  much  for  my  magnetic  power.  Well,  I  forgive 
you,  Nora,  dear,  and  now  for  your  news." 

"  Oh,  everything  is  going  on  as  usual,"  Nora  said, 
"  and  there  is  nothing  much  to  tell  you." 

Then,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  she  added  : 

"  Except  that  I  am  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  That  is  generally  considered  an  interesting  piece  of 
news,"  Mrs  Ellerton  said,  brightly.  "  Anything  more  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  be  married  in  three  or  four  months' 
time,"  Nora  continued. 

"  Anything  more  ?  "  asked  Mrs  Ellerton. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  a  man  called  Theodore  Bevan," 
Nora  said. 

253 


The  Fowler 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  have  not  the  advantage  of  Mr 
Bevan's  acquaintance,"  said  Mrs  Ellerton,  "  but  I  hope 
he  will  be  good  to  you,  and  keep  his  health  !  " 

And  the  little  woman  bent  over  to  Nora,  and  kissed 
her. 

It  was  the  first  genial  word  that  Nora  had  ever  heard 
about  her  engagement,  and  it  acted  on  her  like  a  tonic. 
Some  of  her  old  cheeriness  returned  to  her ;  and  in  a 
short  time,  the  two  friends  were  laughing  and  talking  so 
light-heartedly,  that  their  voices  sounded  like  music  to 
Nora's  old  father,  who  happened  to  come  home  just 
then. 

"  My  Nora  laughing  !  "  he  said,  as  he  crept  quietly  into 
his  den.  It  was  so  seldom  that  she  laughed  now. 

Mrs  Ellerton  did  not  ask  any  questions  about  Theo- 
dore Bevan,  but  Nora  spoke  of  him  of  her  own  accord, 
and  said  she  admired  his  fine  sense  of  justice,  and  his 
entire  freedom  from  malice  and  all  uncharitableness. 

"  He  is  not  tender  by  nature,"  she  said.  "  But  his 
tenderness  is  growing  daily,  like  some  frail  plant  exposed 
at  last  to  favourable  conditions." 

Mrs  Ellerton  made  no  comment  on  this  remark :  she 
had  not  travelled  her  thousands  of  miles  without  learning 
tact  and  discretion. 

But  later  on,  when  a  suitable  occasion  presented  itself: 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Men  are  rough  creatures.  They 
have  to  be  tamed.  I  must  say  it  is  pathetic  when  they 
first  show  real  signs  of  being  influenced  by  the  gentler 
emotions.  Of  course  they  make  shocking  pretences  at  it 
for  their  own  benefit ;  but  when  the  real  thing  comes, 
there  is  no  mistaking  it.  I  was  nearly  melted  to  tears 
the  other  day  when  my  Tom  discovered,  after  eight  years 
of  ignorance  on  the  point,  that  I  often  suffered  from 
shocking  neuralgic  headaches,  and  that  I  was  passion- 

254 


Madge  Carson  in  Distress 

ately  fond  of  Shakspeare's  plays,  and  never  got  a  chance 
of  seeing  them.  It  was  quite  a  tragedy.  You  see,  poor 
dears,  they  learn  very  slowly.  You  must  not  expect  too 
much  at  first,  Nora.  It  takes  a  lifetime  !  " 

And  Nora  laughed,  in  spite  of  herself.  Many  a  bit 
of  fun,  of  schoolgirl's  fun,  grown-up  girl's  fun,  young 
womanhood's  fun,  had  she  and  Bessie  Ellerton  had  over 
every  sort  and  condition  of  man.  Ah,  if  men  could  only 
know  how  women  laugh  at  them  ! 

"  Your  experiences  are  not  very  encouraging,"  Nora 
said,  cheerfully.  "  But  then  Mr  Bevan  is  an  exceptional 
man,  and  he  will  learn  more  quickly  than  most  of  them. 
It  is  wonderful  to  me  how  receptive  and  impressionable 
he  has  become  :  I  am  always  being  touched  by  his  child- 
like need  of  kindness." 

Mrs  Ellerton  said  nothing.  She  nodded  her  head  sym- 
pathetically, and  after  that  they  passed  away  from  the 
subject.  If  she  had  heard  anything  about  Nora's  engage- 
ment, she  at  least  concealed  her  knowledge  with  admir- 
able judgment.  Instead  of  commenting  on  the  character 
of  the  man  to  whom  Nora  had  pledged  herself,  she  gave 
a  spirited  account  of  her  travels  during  the  last  ten 
months  ;  and  in  conclusion  she  said : 

"  So  now  we  have  threshed  out  the  question  of  Arizona, 
and  I  am  thankful  to  say  that  we  shall  never  go  there 
again,  and  that  my  complexion  will  be  saved.  It  was 
becoming  exactly  like  a  piece  of  crumpled  tissue-paper. 
That  was  the  last  straw.  A  woman  can  do  without 
Shakspeare  and  Ibsen,  and  even  Herbert  Spencer  and 
Dante,  but  she  cannot  get  along  with  any  comfort  or 
self-respect  without  a  complexion.  Tom  has  promised 
solemnly  never  to  take  me  to  Arizona  again,  and  I  am 
really  grateful  to  him.  Yes,  my  dear  old  Nora,  after 
eight  years  of  married  life,  my  Tom  is  learning  to  be 

255 


The  Fowler 

human.  It  looks  very  much  as  though  we  only  learnt 
some  of  the  human  virtues  when  we  have  not  a  great 
deal  of  time  left  to  practise  them.  Take  my  advice,  and 
be  careful  to  encourage  your  sweetheart's  efforts  to  think 
occasionally  of  you  instead  of  himself.  But  don't  be 
disheartened  by  failure.  For  it  is  a  huge  undertaking, 
Nora  !  " 

And  Nora,  poor  child,  said  : 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  be  disheartened,  Bessie.  I  know 
what  strides  I  have  already  made." 

Mrs  Ellerton  glanced  at  her  friend's  face,  grown  whiter 
and  thinner,  and  some  words  rose  to  her  lips,  but  she 
checked  them  at  once. 

And  then  Nora,  closing  her  eyes,  said : 

"  Arizona  —  what  does  that  name  recall  to  me  ?  Oh, 
yes,  I  know.  Nurse  Isabel  reading  out  of  a  geography- 
book  to  Mr  Uppingham." 

Her  mind  went  back  to  the  day  when  she  first  visited 
Brian. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs  Ellerton,  "  and  what  about  Nurse 
Isabel  ?  Have  you  seen  her  lately  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  Nora.  "On  closer  acquaintance,  I 
did  not  care  for  her.  I  thought  she  was  not  quite 
steady." 

Mrs  Ellerton  laughed. 

"  My  dear  girl,  since  when  have  you  become  so  highly 
fastidious  ?  Moreover,  Isabel  is  miles  steadier  than  most 
so-called  steady  people.  If  you  are  thinking  of  ostra- 
cising Nurse  Isabel,  I  will  supply  you  with  a  list,  a  very 
long  list,  of  far  more  deserving  cases." 

Nora  made  no  answer.  Mrs  Ellerton,  who  was  leisurely 
putting  on  her  veil  and  gloves,  continued  : 

"  I  can  tell  you  this  about  Isabel :  she  has  been  a  brick 
to  an  ill-tempered  old  mother,  has  supported  her,  borne 

256 


Madge  Carson  in  Distress 

with  her,  and  loved  her,  and  kept  steady  and  straight 
for  her  sake  —  and  amid  many  dangers,  specially  tempt- 
ing to  a  frivolous  character  like  hers.  And  that,  my  dear 
girl,  is  the  only  real  virtue.  You  and  I  probably  have 
not  had  the  chance  of  being  virtuous,  because  we  proba- 
bly have  not  had  the  temptation  of  being  unvirtuous." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  Nora  said,  "  and  I  have  been 
forgetting." 

She  put  her  hand  up  to  her  head,  as  though  she  were 
in  some  mental  distress. 

"Bessie,"  she  said,  "do  you  think  that  one  person  can 
ever  really  succeed  in  stamping  out  the  nature,  character, 
and  temperament  of  another  person,  so  as  to  leave  no 
faintest  trace  behind  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs  Ellerton, "  I  don't  believe  it  possible. 
Something  remains.  Think  how  often  one  hears  of 
friends,  or  relations,  or  husbands  and  wives  bearing  and 
forbearing  with  each  other,  giving  in,  acting,  compromis- 
ing, pretending.  But  when  illness  or  death  comes  near, 
and  the  mask  is  laid  aside,  then  one  sees  the  true  char- 
acter, intact  or  in  pieces,  but  still  there.  But  why  should 
you  ask  me  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  wondering  about  it  lately,"  Nora  said, 
dreamily.  "  I  think  nothing  remains." 

"  Don't  you  become  morbid,"  Mrs  Ellerton  said, 
shaking  her  head.  "  Do  you  remember  how  you  used 
to  arrive  at  the  right  moment,  and  rescue  me  bodily  from 
4  catacomb-land,'  as  we  called  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  good  name,"  Nora  said,  smiling. 

"  And  an  abominable  place,"  Mrs  Ellerton  said,  kissing 
her.  "  Don't  go  there,  unless  you  can't  help  it.  But  if 
you  do  go,  send  for  me." 

Nora  saw  her  off,  and  was  just  closing  the  front  door, 
when  Mrs  Ellerton  came  hurrying  back. 
17  257 


The  Fowler 

"  My  dear,  I've  forgotten  the  very  mission  on  which 
I  came,"  she  said.  "  It  went  out  of  my  mind  until  we 
spoke  of  catacomb-land." 

She  then  told  Nora  that  she  was  in  great  trouble  about 
a  friend  who,  during  Mrs  Ellerton's  absence  abroad,  had 
been  missed  for  several  months  from  the  social  life  of 
the  Eagle  Club.  No  one  knew  what  had  become  of 
her,  until  lately,  when  she  was  found  in  a  poor  part 
of  Kentish  Town,  ill  and  poor,  and  most  difficult  to 
help  by  reason  of  her  pride  and  reticence.  She  had  had 
a  severe  attack  of  scarlet  fever,  and,  owing  to  a  con- 
tinued state  of  weakness  after  she  had  left  the  hospital, 
ulceration  of  the  cornea  of  the  eyes  set  in.  It  was 
thought  that  this  would  in  time  yield  to  treatment,  good 
fare,  and  care.  But  there  lay  the  difficulty;  for  she  was 
alone,  and  seemed  to  have  no  incentive  to  get  better. 
Report  said  that  before  her  illness  some  overwhelming 
grief  had  broken  her  spirit. 

"  I  have  been  doing  my  best  for  her,"  Mrs  Ellerton 
said,  "  but,  as  you  know,  I  am  always  afraid  of  being 
sent  spinning  off  to  the  other  end  of  the  world,  and  then 
she  would  be  left  entirely  to  herself  again ;  for  several 
other  people  have  tried  to  be  good  to  her,  and  have  been 
repulsed.  She  is  very  difficile.  Now,  I  have  set  my 
heart  on  securing  your  help,  Nora,  and  I  feel  sure  you 
are  the  right  person ;  for  when  you  are  not  in  the  cata- 
combs yourself,  you  have  a  way  about  you  quite  irre- 
sistible. She  would  feel  the  force  of  your  vitality  and 
the  charm  of  your  simple  geniality,  and  she  would  not 
be  afraid  of  you  catechising  her  and  prying  into  her 
troubles.  I  assure  you,  she  wants  help  as  much  as  any 
one  I've  ever  known,  and  you  are  the  one  to  give  it." 

"  Oh,  Bessie,"  Nora  said,  her  poor  troubled  heart 
cheered  by  these  words  of  praise,  "  I  don't  think  I  should 

258 


Madge  Carson  in  Distress 

do  much  good.  There  is  nothing  genial  about  me  now. 
I  feel  so  different  from  what  I  used  to  be.  I  have  not 
any  go  left  in  me." 

"  You  have  quite  enough  for  poor  little  Madge 
Carson,"  Mrs  Ellerton  said. 

"Madge  Carson!"  said  Nora. 

"  Why,  do  you  know  her  ?  "  Mrs  Ellerton  asked. 

"  I  have  seen  her  once,"  Nora  said.  "  And  we  did 
not  hit  it  off" 

Mrs  Ellerton  looked  disappointed. 

u  Then  I  suppose  you  won't  go,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  it." 

"  Oh,  if  you  wish  it  so  much,  I  will  go,"  said  Nora, 
"  but  I  don't  think  she  would  consent  to  see  me  if  she 
knew  my  name." 

"  But  she  need  n't  know  it,"  said  Mrs  Ellerton,  cheer- 
ing up  again.  "  She  won't  recognise  you — poor  little 
child.  Her  eyes  are  in  such  a  state  that  she  can't  dis- 
tinguish people  in  the  least,  and  I  can  easily  say  I  am 
sending  a  dear  friend.  Leave  all  that  to  me." 

Nora  hesitated. 

"  Of  course  I  will  go,"  she  said  —  "I  will  go  to- 
morrow." 

"  You  are  a  dear ! "  Mrs  Ellerton  said,  kissing  her, 
and  she  went  off  saying  to  herself : 

"  My  poor  Nora.  And  this  is  what  he  has  been 
making  of  you." 

And  Nora  thought : 

"  What  a  pleasure  to  see  an  old  friend.  Bessie  has 
changed.  She  takes  a  brighter  view  of  life.  And  I 
have  changed  too,  and  my  brightness  has  gone.  And 
why  ?  Am  I  unhappy  or  anxious  ?  Or  what  is  it  ?  " 

The  next  morning  Nora  started  off  to  the  address 
given  in  Kentish  Town.  Having  once  made  up  her 

259 


The  Fowler 

mind,  she  was  touchingly  eager  to  be  of  use  to  this  little 
stricken  girl.  It  was  the  first  time  for  many  months 
that  she  had  taken  any  trouble  about  any  one  except 
Theodore  Bevan,  and  she  felt  an  almost  childlike  pleas- 
ure in  the  undertaking ;  just  as  we  all  feel,  when,  after 
a  long  period  of  listlessness  and  irresponsibility,  we  are 
suddenly  entrusted  with  a  task,  and  are  allowed  the 
dignity  and  buoyancy  of  believing  that  we  alone  can 
accomplish  it  successfully.  She  bought  a  few  little 
delicacies,  and  at  length  arrived  at  her  destination. 
The  door  of  the  little  house  was  opened  by  a  good- 
tempered  woman,  who,  in  reply  to  Nora's  inquiry  after 
Miss  Carson,  pointed  to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"But  you'll  have  a  job  to  see  her  if  you  aren't  an 
intimate,"  the  woman  said,  looking  at  Nora  with  dis- 
tinct approval.  "  She  is  terrible  unsociable  —  poor  little 
creature." 

Nora  mentioned  that  she  had  been  sent  by  Mrs 
Ellerton,  and  would  take  her  chance  of  being  dismissed, 
and  passed  up-stairs.  She  knocked  at  the  door,  and, 
after  some  delay,  a  voice  said,  "  Come  in."  Nora  went 
in,  and  saw  Madge  Carson  lying  on  the  bed. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mrs  Ellerton  ?  "  she  asked,  without 
even  turning  her  face  from  the  wall.  "  I  wish  you 
would  not  trouble  about  me." 

"  It  is  not  Mrs  Ellerton,"  Nora  said,  gently.  "  But 
I  am  a  friend  of  hers,  and  very  anxious  to  see  if  there 
was  anything  I  could  do  for  you." 

When  Nora  was  at  her  best,  there  was  something 
soothing  in  her  voice.  The  face  held  so  persistently  to 
the  wall  turned  towards  Nora. 

"  Mrs  Ellerton  wrote  of  you  to  me,  only  this  morn- 
ing," the  girl  said.  "  She  said  I  was  not  to  be  disa- 
greeable to  you.  I  will  try,  but  it  is  a  difficult  matter." 

260 


Madge  Carson  in  Distress 

"  You  would  not  find  it  very  difficult  if  you  knew  how 
eager  I  was  to  come,"  Nora  said,  as  she  drew  up  a  chair 
to  the  bedside.  "  I  have  not  been  thinking  of  any  one 
but  myself  for  many  months.  I  have  been  out  of  the 
running  of  everything ;  and  when  Bessie  Ellerton  told 
me  about  you  yesterday,  and  suggested  that  I  might 
venture  to  call,  I  felt  as  though  a  new  path  had  opened 
out  to  me  —  a  path  which  was  wide  enough  to  contain 
some  one  else  as  well  as  myself." 

"Yes,  I  know  one  feels  like  that  sometimes,"  the 
girl  said,  wearily,  and  relapsed  into  silence  and  mood- 
iness.  Nora  made  no  attempt  to  engage  her  in  con- 
versation, but,  in  the  quietest  way  possible,  set  about 
preparing  some  nourishing  food  which  she  had  brought 
with  her,  and  coaxed  the  fire  into  a  more  pronounced 
existence.  It  was  a  dim  light  on  this  February  after- 
noon, but  Nora,  knowing  about  Madge's  eye-trouble, 
did  not  like  to  suggest  lamp  or  candle. 

When  the  cup  of  food  was  ready,  she  brought  it  to 
the  bedside,  but  to  her  surprise  the  girl  raised  herself 
and  said  : 

"I  think  I  will  sit  by  the  fire.  How  good  of  you  to 
do  all  this  for  me !  And  I  have  been  so  sulky  all  the 
time.  You  will  find  a  lamp  on  the  table  in  the  corner. 
I  shall  not  mind  the  light  so  long  as  I  don't  face 
it." 

She  got  off  the  bed,  and  groped  her  way  to  the  easy- 
chair,  which  Nora  had  put  ready  for  her. 

"  Oh,  I'm  horribly  weak,"  she  said.  "  The  days  go 
on,  and  I  get  no  better.  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  going  to 
that  hospital  to  have  my  eyes  seen  to.  I  ought  to  have 
gone  to-day." 

"  You  must  let  me  take  you  next  time,"  Nora  said, 
kindly.  "  You  ought  not  to  neglect  that." 

261 


The  Fowler 

Madge  made  no  answer,  but  sipped  the  gruel,  and 
nodded  her  head  approvingly. 

"  Miss  Graham,"  she  said,  more  cheerily  than  she 
had  yet  taken  the  trouble  to  speak  to  her  visitor,  "  this 
is  good.  I  believe  you  have  put  some  whisky  into 
it!" 

Nora  laughed,  and  owned  that  she  had,  and  encouraged 
by  Madge's  appreciation  and  growing  friendliness,  came 
to  the  fireside,  and  made  herself  some  tea,  and  chatted 
away  with  some  of  her  old  animation.  She  spoke  of 
Mrs  Ellerton,  and  of  the  fun  they  always  had  over  the 
doctors,  and  the  long  distances  ;  and  then,  strange  to  say, 
she  found  herself  drifting  to  the  subject  of  her  old  father, 
and  her  friends  at  the  King's  Head.  Something  tugged 
at  her  heart  when  Madge  Carson  said : 

"  Ah,  you  are  a  lucky  girl  to  have  your  father  still. 
A  father  never  forsakes  one." 

Once  or  twice  Nora  rose  to  go,  but  Madge  begged 
her  to  stay  on. 

"  You  have  done  me  good  by  coming,"  she  said. 
"  Somehow  or  other  I  knew  when  you  first  spoke  that 
you  would  not  harass  me  by  questions  and  commisera- 
tion, but  would  just  take  me  as  I  was.  I  wish  I  could 
see  you.  I  am  sure  you  have  a  dear  kind  face.  I  feel 
as  though  I  should  never  be  able  to  see  any  one  or  any- 
thing again.  But  the  doctors  say  that  as  I  get  stronger, 
I  shall  regain  my  sight." 

"  Then  you  must  get  stronger,"  Nora  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  perhaps,"  she  answered,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  "  I  have  not  yet  begun  to  try  seriously,  but 
I  suppose  I  shall  try.  We  all  do,  whether  we  have 
anything  to  live  for,  or  whether  we  are  merely  pelicans 
in  the  wilderness.  I  suppose  it  is  the  old  instinct  of 
self-preservation." 

262 


Madge  Carson  in  Distress 

"  Are  you  quite  alone  in  the  world  ?  "  Nora  asked, 
gently. 

"  I  was  not  alone  until  lately  —  just  before  my  illness," 
Madge  said.  "  Then  suddenly,  without  any  warning, 
my  beautiful  goblet  of  happiness  was  dashed  to  the 
ground." 

After  this,  she  crouched  over  the  fire,  made  no  attempt 
at  conversation,  and  finally  lay  down  on  the  bed  and 
retired  into  herself. 

Nora,  who  had  lit  the  lamp  and  screened  it,  glanced 
at  the  little  book-binder,  and  was  shocked  to  see  the 
alteration  in  her  appearance  :  for  illness  and  misery  had 
made  havoc  of  her.  She  was  touched  to  her  very  heart 
to  see  this  little  girl  in  such  desolate  surroundings,  and 
without  even  the  comfort  of  being  able  to  do  her  beauti- 
ful work.  There  was  something  pathetic  in  the  sight 
of  her  neglected  bench  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  her 
craft  huddled  together  in  the  corner.  Nora's  heart  went 
out  to  her,  and  she  felt  that  Mrs  Ellerton  was  right  in 
saying  that  here  indeed  was  some  one  who  needed  help. 
Many  thoughts  rushed  through  her  mind.  Had  Bessie 
Ellerton  known  about  Madge's  previous  meeting  with 
Nora,  or  was  it  just  one  of  those  strange  coincidences 
which  are  not  so  strange  after  all,  considering  the  smail- 
ness  of  an  ordinary  person's  chessboard  of  life  ?  Did 
Madge  Carson  know  who  she  was,  or  had  she,  to  please 
Mrs  Ellerton,  received  Mrs  Ellerton's  friend  on  trust  ? 
Oh  well,  it  did  not  matter.  They  had  been  brought 
together  in  this  unexpected  way,  and  Nora  realised  that 
there  was  a  curious  feeling  of  satisfaction  and  excite- 
ment in  her  heart.  What  would  it  all  end  in  ?  What 
would  Theodore  Bevan  say  ?  He  must  not  know. 

Full  of  these  reflections,  she  lingered  on  a  while,  and 
then,  seeing  that  she  could  be  of  no  further  use  that  day, 

263 


The  Fowler 

she  bent  over  Madge  to  say  good-bye.  Madge  Carson 
lifted  up  her  face  to  be  kissed. 

"  Come  to  me  again  soon,"  she  whispered.  "  Come 
to-morrow." 

Nora  was  late  home  that  evening,  and  she  learnt  that 
Theodore  Bevan  had  waited  for  some  time^  and  had  been 
obliged  to  leave.  There  were  a  few  pencilled  lines  for 
her  : 

"  Where  can  you  have  been,  my  Athene  ?  I  am  deso- 
late, lose  all  my  bearings,  my  very  identity,  without  you." 


264 


The  Historian  Loves  and  Works 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE    HISTORIAN    LOVES    AND    WORKS 

ROGER  PENHURST  had  said  to  Nora  : 

"  Brave  men  do  not  give  up  their  life's  work  because 
women  break  their  hearts." 

It  was  at  least  true  of  Brian  Uppingham  that  he  went 
on  with  his  work,  and  found  his  legitimate  comfort  in 
being  able  to  use  his  talents  and  abilities.  Only  those 
who  by  untoward  circumstances  have  been  forced  into 
inactivity,  or  uncongenial  activity,  can  realise  the  rapture 
with  which  these  outcasts  enter  once  more  into  their  in- 
heritance. It  is  like  the  gladness  of  spring-time.  It  is 
like  the  glow  in  a  maiden's  heart  in  the  presence  of  her 
lover.  It  is  like  a  renewal  of  fellowship  with  the  gods 
themselves.  And  all  the  time,  whatever  it  is,  or  is  not, 
beautiful  and  bright  floods  of  sunshine  illumine  the  heart 
and  brain  with  a  rich  lustre  of  gratitude. 

Sometimes,  alas  !  the  impassable  barriers  guarding  the 
divine  inheritance  are  broken  down  too  late,  and  the 
Worker  with  fading  eyes  may  only  dimly  recognise  his 
own  fair  kingdom. 

"  And  this  was  mine,  and  now  is  mine  once  more  !  " 
he  cries. 

And  with  the  pride  of  recovered  sovereignty,  the 
Worker's  spirit  passes  away  from  beyond  all  possibilities 
of  boundary  into  the  Greater  Inheritance.  But  not 
always  even  this  much  of  mercy  is  vouchsafed  him,  and 
sometimes  those  barriers  are  never  broken  down.  He 

265 


The  Fowler 

stands  outside  them  and  dies  standing  —  without  one 
moment's  thrill  of  hope  and  rapture. 

But  Brian's  fate  was  a  happier  one,  and  not  only  was 
he  rejoicing  at  having  reconquered  his  kingdom,  but  he 
was  conscious  that  his  strength  of  brain  and  mind  had 
been  quietly  increasing  during  that  long  time  of  illness 
and  waiting.  At  first  he  did  not  realise  it,  but  as  the 
weeks  went  on  and  his  difficulties  of  working  and  think- 
ing resolved  themselves  into  a  simpler  problem,  he  found 
that  he  had  gained  and  not  lost  by  his  enforced  idleness. 
This  alone  was  an  inexpressible  joy  to  him,  one  of  life's 
compensations  for  his  great  soreness  in  having  lost  Nora 
for  the  time.  But  he  firmly  believed  that  he  had  not 
altogether  lost  her. 

"  Some  day  she  will  say  again  :  l  Brian  is  waiting,' " 
he  said  to  himself  often  and  often. 

Every  morning  of  his  life  he  put  on  his  writing-desk  a 
photograph  of  Nora,  given  to  him  by  her  father.  Very 
tenderly  he  leaned  it  against  the  maiden-hair  fern,  and 
when  his  hours  of  work  were  over,  very  tenderly  he 
transferred  it  to  his  breast-pocket. 

He  made  tremendous  strides  with  the  continuation  of 
his  History,  and  as  it  was  necessary  for  a  nature  like  his 
to  seek  encouragement  and  sympathy,  he  sought  and 
found  it  in  Nora's  father.  Every  page  was  read  over 
and  approved  of  or  condemned  by  Roger  Penhurst. 

"  Good  !  "  the  old  man  would  say,  with  a  quick  nod 
of  appreciation. 

u  Damned  bad  !  "  he  would  say  on  other  occasions. 
"  Dull  as  ditch  water.  Pluck  it  out  and  cast  it  from 
thee." 

"  But  it  is  my  best  bit  of  all,"  Brian  would  answer, 
defiantly. 

"  It  is  the  duty  of  all  writers  to  get  rid  of  all  their 
266 


The  Historian  Loves  and  Works 

best  bits,"   Roger  would  answer.     "And  you  know  it, 
Uppingham." 

Roger  was  generally  right  in  his  criticisms,  and  after 
a  suitable  amount  of  obstinacy,  the  historian  gave  in. 

Apart  from  Brian's  own  personal  work,  he  went  out 
freely,  and  enjoyed  the  companionship  of  many  leading 
men  of  the  day,  in  politics  and  science.  His  happiest 
hours  were  spent  in  the  laboratory  of  a  great  chemist, 
where,  as  an  eager  scholar,  he  learnt  some  of  the  won- 
ders of  modern  scientific  research.  It  was  during  this 
time  that  his  friend  discovered  the  presence  in  the  air  of 
a  hitherto  unknown  gas,  and  it  was  Brian  himself  who 
had  the  delight  of  writing  the  account  in  the  c  Times ' 
which  announced  to  the  world  this  most  important  dis- 
covery. It  was  one  of  his  great  charms  that  he  could 
enter  with  whole-hearted  enthusiasm  into  the  region  of 
other  people's  work  totally  different  from  his  own,  offer- 
ing always  the  best  of  his  abilities  to  help  in  any  humble 
way  whatsoever.  The  music  of  his  life,  whatever  its 
quality  or  limitations,  was  at  least  free  from  that  modern 
peculiarity  of  an  undue  insistence  of  the  personal  note. 
So,  in  this  much-loved  scientific  haven,  he  got  away 
from  himself,  his  writings,  and  everything  indeed  which 
combines  both  to  help  and  hamper  a  literary  career ;  and 
he  was  not  often  tempted  into  Puppet  Land,  though  he 
went  sometimes  and  took  his  place  in  the  Peep  Show. 
He  came  back  full  of  enjoyment,  and  brimming  over 
with  quaint  comment.  He  was,  in  fact,  like  an  un- 
spoiled child,  who  had  not  been  to  too  many  tea-parties. 
But  on  the  few  occasions  when  he  was  present,  he  took 
in  all  the  details  in  his  own  direct  way.  He  was  so 
unworldly  himself,  that  nothing  impressed  him  so  much 
as  the  restless  striving  after  place,  position  and  social 
influence. 

267 


The  Fowler 

"  It  is  incredible,"  he  said,  "  that  people  should  care 
so  much."  Once  he  put  the  question  to  one  of  the 
brightest  and  smartest  of  Society  hostesses. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  tell  me,  do  you  really  care  so 
desperately  for  this  kind  of  life  and  atmosphere  ? " 

"  Desperately,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  And  do 
you  know  why  ?  Because  it  was  a  great  struggle  to 
attain  to  it.  At  one  time  I  thought  others  had  out- 
stripped me  in  the  race  of  social  importance.  But  I 
gathered  myself  together  and  sped  on.  Only  one  has 
always  to  be  on  the  alert,  otherwise  a  rival  gets  an 
undue  advantage." 

"  How  very  curious,"  Brian  said,  speaking  as  though 
he  had  been  told  of  the  habits  and  characters  of  an  un- 
known race.  "  How  very  curious  and  interesting." 

She  glanced  at  him  to  make  sure  that  he  was  not 
ridiculing  her,  and  saw  that  he  was  just  his  whole-hearted 
self.  His  simplicity  and  unworldliness  touched  a  soft 
note  of  respect  in  her  heart.  Later  on  in  the  evening 
she  sought  him  out  again. 

u  Some  day,"  she  said,  "  I  will  tell  you  something 
more  about  this  fight  for  social  existence  and  importance, 
and  then  you  will  understand  better  the  working  of  the 
wheel  within  wheel,  the  intricacies  and  entanglements 
and  the  propelling  forces.  And  you  will  sum  us  up 
very  gently,  showing  all  our  weaknesses,  but  not  for- 
getting our  bit  of  strength  and  our  bit  of  pathos." 

But  that  evening,  when  she  had  retired  to  her  room, 
Mrs  de  Lancy,  flushed  with  the  triumph  of  a  specially 
successful  function,  at  which  many  distinguished  people 
of  rank,  fortune,  and  fame  were  present,  thought  of 
Brian  Uppingham,  and  a  tender  smile  passed  over  her 
face. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  aloud,  "  and  he  may  well  look  upon 
268 


The  Historian  Loves  and  Works 

us  as  some  strange  far-off  tribe  who  have  a  peculiar  way 
of  '  throwing  the  spear.'  " 

Brian  had  the  unconscious  power  of  making  people 
think  of  him.  It  was  all  the  same  whether  it  was  a 
Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  a  Mrs  de  Lancy,  David  the  black- 
smith, the  famous  chemist,  the  Master  of  Trinity, 
Wullie  —  any  one.  He  had  been  born  to  be  loved  by 
women,  by  men,  by  children,  and  by  animals.  He  had 
no  idea  how  greatly  women  were  drawn  to  him.  He 
went  on  his  way,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the 
left.  Nora  was  ever  before  him  —  in  the  distance  it  is 
true,  but  still  a  distinct  vision,  which  he  would  see 
until  his  eyes  could  see  no  more.  And  he  clung  to 
her  old  father  with  a  persistence  which  was  a  curious 
mixture  of  the  desire  to  protect  and  the  craving  to  be 
protected  and  helped.  If  two  or  three  days  passed  by, 
and  Roger  did  not  put  in  his  appearance  at  Mecklenburg 
Square,  Brian  became  uneasy,  and  sought  for  him  in  all 
his  haunts.  He  often  found  him  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
The  verger  told  Brian  that  his  habit  was  to  remain  there 
for  hours. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  in  trouble,"  the  man  said,  kindly. 
"  Many  people  who  are  distressed  come  here,  and  sit  in  the 
dim  light  and  soothing  quietness.  I  know  them  so  well. 
They  never  speak.  They  just  wander  about  dreamily 
by  themselves,  and  then  sink  in  some  corner  and  rest. 
Indeed,  sir,  there  could  well  be  written  many  and  many  a 
story  about  the  people  who  come  here  to  be  comforted." 

Sometimes  Brian  found  him  in  the  Egyptian  Room 
of  the  British  Museum. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  once,  "  you  have  given  me  the  slip  for 
three  days,  and  now  I  find  you  mooning  about  literally 
in  Egyptian  darkness.  Come  home  to  me  now.  I  miss 
you  so  dreadfully  when  you  forsake  me." 

269 


The  Fowler 

"  My  dear  lad,"  the  old  man  said,  "  I  should  have  got 
on  very  badly  all  this  time  but  for  you." 

And  arm  in  arm  the  two  friends  went  to  Brian's 
home.  There  was  no  need  of  any  explanation  on  those 
black  days :  Brian  knew  that  Roger  Penhurst  was  fret- 
ting about  Nora,  and  that  the  time  was  speeding  on 
towards  her  marriage. 

But  one  morning  Roger  arrived  in  excellent  spirits 
and  looking  years  younger. 

"  Nora  and  the  centipede  had  some  falling  out,"  he 
said,  cheerily.  "  She  has  been  visiting  a  friend  of  hers 
who  is  ill,  and  once  or  twice  she  has  not  come  home 
until  late.  Her  manner  to  him  is  undergoing  a  change. 
She  does  not  seem  nearly  so  cowed  at  times.  All  the 
same,  he  has  a  most  extraordinary  hold  on  her.  And 
yet  she  refused  the  other  evening  to  account  to  him  for 
her  late  return.  He  generally  comes  in  at  six.  It  was 
fully  eight  when  she  arrived. 

" '  I  have  had  things  to  see  after,'  she  said,  quite 
airily. 

" c  You  would  surely  wish  to  tell  me  what  those 
things  were,'  he  said. 

u  t  No,  Theodore,'  she  answered.  4 1  don't  care  to 
be  coerced  into  accounting  for  every  minute  of  my  time. 
Father  never  asked  it  of  me.' 

41  We  were  all  thunderstruck  —  herself  included. 
She  looked  frightened  after  that,  and  relapsed  into  her 
usual  submissive  manner,  but  he  went  away,  much 
annoyed,  though  he  said  nothing.  I  suppose  I  am  an 
old  fool  to  feel  encouraged  by  this  trifling  incident,  but 
one  never  gets  too  old  to  be  a  fool,  thank  Heaven !  " 

He  took  heart  from  that  day  forth,  and  mentally  lay 
in  wait  for  further  developments.  Brian  impressed  on 
him  the  wisdom  of  not  interfering. 

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The  Historian  Loves  and  Works 

"  Don't  seem  to  notice  any  difference,"  he  said. 
"  Above  all,  don't  make  any  alteration  in  your  everyday 
habits.  Just  go  quietly  on." 

But  his  own  heart  beat  faster.  Could  it  be  that  the 
first  brick  of  the  barrier  between  himself  and  Nora  had 
been  broken  down  ?  He  knew,  just  as  her  father  knew, 
that  directly  her  own  will-power  began  to  assert  itself 
again  —  even  in  a  trifling  matter  —  then  also  would  his 
own  chances  of  regaining  her  begin  to  take  form  and 
substance.  He  had  not  any  idea  that  Theodore  Bevan 
had  been  coupling  his  name  with  Nurse  Isabel's,  and 
trying  to  poison  Nora  against  him.  He  trusted  her 
implicitly  himself,  and  believed  so  thoroughly  that  she 
was  passing  through  a  bad  time  of  impotence  and 
ignorance,  from  which  she  would  emerge  strong  and 
free.  It  never  struck  him  to  doubt  her  absolute  belief 
in  him.  And  Roger  had  not  told  him  what  Nora  had 
said  against  him  and  Nurse  Isabel,  partly  because  it  was 
too  painful,  and  partly  because  he  did  not  believe  that 
Nora  really  entertained  any  doubts  of  Brian's  entire 
loyalty.  Her  doubts  were  mere  pretences  conjured  up 
by  the  evil  magician's  wand. 

But  one  day  Brian  found  it  out  by  himself,  in  the  most 
ordinary  manner.  He  had  not  been  forgetting  that 
Nurse  Isabel's  character  had  been  slandered,  and  that 
in  some  mysterious  way  her  best  doctors  had  been 
warned  against  her.  She  had  been  a  long  time  out  of 
work,  and  one  or  two  rivals,  whom  she  detested  with 
true  womanly  hatred,  had  been  deputed  to  take  charge 
of  the  cases  which  usually  fell  to  her  share. 

"  Being  lack'd  and  lost,"  she  began  to  think  more 
indulgently  of  all  the  dull  bishops,  authors,  philosophers, 
and  irritable  old  ladies  whom  she  had  nursed.  And  she 
fretted  about  her  old  mother.  How  was  she  to  give  her 

271 


The  Fowler 

those  little  luxuries  which  had  become  such  a  necessity  ? 
Well,  she  could  easily  sell  some  of  her  stamps  and  other 
treasures,  and  raise  a  few  shillings  that  way  until  the 
luck  turned  again,  and  if  it  did  not  turn,  then  she  would 
have  to  sell  herself.  Her  mother  need  not  know,  and 
she  herself  would  not  care  —  no  one  would  care.  And 
then  she  thought  of  Brian,  and  her  mood  changed  at 
once.  A  wonderful  tenderness  diffused  itself  in  her 
heart  and  spirit. 

"No,"  she  said  to  herself.  "As  long  as  I  have  a 
friend  in  a  man  like  that,  I  will  not  do  anything  to  for- 
feit his  esteem.  I  would  rather  go  and  ask  him  to  give 
or  lend  me  money,  and  thus  help  me  over  this  bad 
wave.  And  meantime,  I  will  go  and  took  up  one  or 
two  of  my  doctors." 

So  she  went  to  one  of  the  houses  in  Richardson 
Street,  and  waited  for  a  long  time  in  the  depressing 
reception-room,  until  a  long  procession  of  consulting 
visitors  had  paid  in  their  separate  two  guineas,  and 
received  their  separate  two  minutes'  advice  and  ex- 
amination. Then  there  came  a  pause,  and  during  this 
interval  Nurse  Isabel  was  summoned  by  the  reproachful- 
looking  man-servant  into  the  great  specialist's  sanctum. 
He  looked  up  from  his  papers  as  she  came  in,  and 
nodded  good  morning  in  a  kindly  enough  manner.  He 
was  by  nature  a  kind  man,  and  success  had  not  robbed 
him  of  his  birthright.  Like  most  doctors  —  whether 
leading  London  specialists  or  obscure  country  practi- 
tioners —  he  was  guilty  of  innumerable  acts  of  generous 
helpfulness,  not  even  guessed  at  by  the  outside  world. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  no  case  for  you  just  at  present, 
Nurse  Isabel,"  he  said,  a  little  brusquely. 

"  I  am  badly  in  want  of  one,  doctor,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  face  relaxed.  He  had 
272 


The  Historian  Loves  and  Works 

always  rather  liked  Nurse  Isabel,  and  had  often  per- 
versely judged  her  suitable  for  the  most  unsuitable  cases. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "  unpleasant  reports  have 
reached  me  about  you.  I  cannot  afford  to  employ  any 
nurse  who  earns  a  doubtful  name  for  herself.  There  is 
too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays,  and  I  have  felt 
obliged  to  cross  you  out  of  my  book.  I  am  very  sorry 
—  yes,  I  am  very  sorry." 

He  rose,  as  all  doctors  do  when  they  desire  to  put  an 
end  to  the  interview. 

"  It  is  entirely  a  false  accusation,"  Nurse  Isabel  said, 
quietly.  "  I  may  not  be  an  ideal  nurse,  either  in  action 
or  aspiration,  but  I  am  not  a  woman  of  loose  character ; 
and,  I  think,  it  is  due  to  me  that  you  should,  at  least, 
tell  me  the  name  of  your  informant." 

"  I  had  it  direct  from  one  of  my  colleagues,  Dr 
Morgan,"  the  specialist  said ;  "  and  you  know  that  he 
himself  has  refused  you  work.  I  am  not  here  to  decide 
upon  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  these  unpleasant  charges 
against  your  good  name.  I  merely  say  that  I  do  not 
care  to  go  on  employing  a  nurse  who  is  being  talked 
about.  It  is  undesirable  and  impossible — " 

The  bell  rang,  and  the  man-servant  announced 
another  member  of  the  morning's  procession. 

"  Another  time,  Nurse  Isabel,"  the  doctor  said,  closing 
his  eyes,  and  waving  his  hand  vaguely  towards  the  door. 
Nurse  Isabel  stepped  out  into  the  street,  and  then 
paused  a  moment. 

"  When  a  woman  is  reported  to  have  lost  her  good 
name,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  she  might  just  as  well  go 
and  lose  it  in  earnest,  for  the  world  will  never  again 
believe  in  her  virtue." 

For  a  long  time  she  wandered  about,  and  fought  a 
good  fight  in  her  mind.  Then  she  went  straight  back 


18 


273 


The  Fowler 

to  her  lonely  lodging,  and  wrote  Brian  Uppingham  a 
cheery  little  note  which  she  read  with  satisfaction. 

u  I  went  to  my  best  specialist  to-day,  Dr  James 
Mathers,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  taken  my  name  off 
his  books,  in  consequence  of  some  reports  which  had 
reached  him.  It  has  been  a  great  blow  to  me,  for  I 
always  regarded  him  as  my  best  card.  However,  I  am 
bearing  up  with  saint-like  courage ;  and,  if  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  I  can  at  least  become  a  plague  nurse. 
People  won't  be  over-squeamish  about  the  morals  or 
immorals  of  a  plague  nurse,  and  she  will  be  indulgently 
allowed  to  sacrifice  her  life  for  the  benefit  of  others, 
even  although  there  may  be  ugly  reports  going  round. 
I  believe  this  is  all  the  work  of  that  little  wretch 
Theodore  Bevan.  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  the  ball 
once  set  rolling  always  rolls,  because  every  one  takes  a 
pleasure  in  giving  it  an  extra  kick." 

When  Brian  received  this  letter,  he  sat  thinking  and 
wondering  what  to  do.  He  was  divided  between  the 
desire  to  go  and  give  Bevan  another  shaking,  and  the 
more  sensible  plan  of  visiting  Dr  James  Mathers  and 
trying  to  set  things  straight  for  Nurse  Isabel.  He  chose 
the  latter  course.  He  got  a  letter  of  personal  intro- 
duction to  Dr  Mathers  from  his  friend  the  chemist,  and 
sent  it  in  with  the  usual  application  for  a  professional 
interview.  The  specialist  was  glad  to  see  him,  and 
welcomed  him. 

"  But  I  am  sorry  you  need  my  help,"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  you  were  all  right,  and  pegging  away  at  the 
continuation  of  your  History." 

"  Yes,  I  am  all  right,  "  Brian  answered,  "  and  I  have 
come  to  see  you,  not  about  myself,  but  about  a  matter 
which  has  distressed  me." 

He  then  spoke  of  Nurse  Isabel,  and  he  ended  by  saying  : 
274 


The  Historian  Loves  and  Works 

"  She  may  be  vain  and  frivolous,  but  not  worse  than 
most  people,  and  at  least  she  knows  it,  which  most 
people  do  not.  I  stake  my  own  honour  on  her 
stability." 

Dr  Mathers  looked  at  him  with  an  amused  but  some- 
what puzzled  smile. 

"  It  is  strange  that  you  should  be  the  one  to  come  and 
plead  for  this  woman,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  is  strange,"  Brian  answered. 
"  She  is  down  on  her  luck,  and  a  number  of  lies  are 
being  told  about  her,  and  I  simply  come  forward  to  speak 
up  for  her.  I  ought  to  know  something  about  her, 
considering  she  nursed  me  for  nearly  three  months." 

"  You  are  supposed  to  know  a  great  deal  about  her," 
Dr  Mathers  answered,  grimly. 

Brian  stared. 

"It  is  your  name  which  is  being  chiefly- coupled  with 
hers,"  the  specialist  added.  "  Therefore  I  may  well 
think  it  strange  that  you  should  come  and  plead  for  her 
to  me.  It  is  not  the  fashion  for  us  men  to  care  greatly 
about  the  fate  of  the  women  whom  we  drag  down." 

But  even  as  Dr  Mathers  spoke,  he  noticed  the  look  of 
unutterable  astonishment  on  his  visitor's  face.  Brian 
might  have  sustained  a  severe  but  subtle  shock.  His 
colour  became  ashen. 

"  I  have  never  dragged  her  down,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  If  it  is  only  my  name  which  is  doing  an  injury  to  her 
good  name,  then  I  can  doubly  testify  to  the  utter 
falseness  of  the  reports,  and  can  trace  them  direct  to 
their  origin.  Our  names  have  been  coupled  together  in 
order  to  injure  us  both  in  the  eyes  of  some  one  very  dear 
to  her  and  to  me,  dearer  than  life  and  light.  It  looks 
after  all  as  though  I  had  been  dragging  Nurse  Isabel 
down,  if  she  is  to  be  included  in  a  mean  revenge 

275 


The  Fowler 

measured  out  principally  for  me.  But  there  has  never 
been  anything  questionable  between  us." 

The  quiet  dignity  of  the  man  carried  its  own  value 
wherever  he  went.  The  great  specialist,  so  accustomed 
to  observe  and  analyse,  knew  that  he  was  dealing  with  a 
good  and  pure-hearted  man.  But  he  said  nothing ;  he 
was  not  a  man  of  many  words.  He  opened  a  large 
note-book  and  played  absently  with  his  stylographic  pen. 

Then  he  spoke : 

"  I  do  myself  the  honour,  Mr  Uppingham,  of 
believing  entirely  in  your  honour.  And  you  see  I  am 
writing  Nurse  Isabel's  name  in  my  book  again.  If  she 
has  a  friend  like  you  to  plead  for  her,  she  must  be  worth 
retaining.  I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 

He  grasped  Brian  warmly  by  the  hand,  and  when 
alone,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  thought  of  him 
with  a  peculiar  kind  of  tenderness. 

"  A  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

Even  after  a  long  procession  of  clients  and  coins,  and 
all  the  ills  and  aches  of  suffering  modern  rich  humanity, 
his  mind  wandered  away  to  Brian. 

"  A  dear  fellow,"  he  said  again,  "  and  as  clear  as 
crystal." 


276 


A  Heart's  Outpouring 


CHAPTER   V 
A  HEART'S  OUTPOURING 

ROGER  PENHURST  followed  Brian's  advice,  and  appeared 
to  be  taking  no  notice  of  the  change  which  was  coming 
over  Nora's  extraordinary  infatuation.  He  studied  his 
Persian  with  redoubled  enthusiasm,  and  did  not  give  any 
sign  of  desiring  her  companionship.  But  he  often  saw 
her  looking  at  him  with  wistful  eyes,  and  it  required  a 
strong  effort  of  self-control  to  prevent  him  from  throw- 
ing off  the  mask  of  indifference,  which  fitted  him  so 
uncomfortably.  He  longed  to  take  her  to  his  heart 
again.  He  longed  to  ask  her  to  listen  to  some  fine  old 
Italian  melodies  which  he  had  unearthed.  But  he  tried 
to  be  wise,  and  let  her  go  her  own  way  ;  and  although 
she  had  referred  several  times  to  the  friend  whom  she 
was  nursing,  he  asked  no  questions,  and  merely  told  her 
that  he  was  glad  that  she  had  some  one  in  whom  to  be 
interested.  Theodore  Bevan,  on  the  other  hand,  knew 
nothing  about  Nora's  visits  to  a  sick  friend,  and  he  could 
not  account  for  her  variability  of  mood  and  manner. 

He  wrote  in  his  journal : 

"  My  Athene  is  most  trying  at  times.  Still,  I  have 
every  hope  of  subduing  her.  I  am  often  at  a  loss  which 
weapon  to  employ :  the  weapon  of  being  alone  and 
unloved  in  the  world,  or  the  weapon  of  tenderness,  or  of 
masterfulness.  But  it  is  worth  the  trouble,  and,  by  God  ! 
when  she  is  thoroughly  tamed,  she  shall  remain  tamed. 
I  have  a  strong  hold  on  her,  although  she  is  always 
trying  to  shake  herself  free.  But  she  shall  not  escape 

277 


The  Fowler 

from  me.  And  I  do  not  intend  to  do  without  her. 
She  is  the  only  being  that  has  ever  roused  in  me  the 
faintest  idea  of  love  —  And  I  will  have  her,  and  to  do 
what  I  like  with.  She  shall  not  thwart  me  like  this 
—  no  one  shall  thwart  me.  I  have  set  my  heart  on 
her,  my  will  on  her ;  and  the  stronger  her  desire  to  slip 
away  from  me,  the  stronger  my  determination  to  hold 
her  against  all  odds.  .  .  .  Can  it  be  that  she  has  heard 
things  against  me  and  that  she  is  beginning  to  doubt  my 
sense  of  justice  and  my  wonderful  freedom  from  malice 
and  all  uncharitableness  ?  " 

He  decided  on  the  wisest  plan  in  the  circumstances, 
and  used  the  irresistible  weapon  of  being  alone  and 
unloved  in  the  world. 

"  There  is  a  shadow  on  your  heart  about  me,  my 
Athene,"  he  said,  very  gently,  one  evening,  when  he 
came  in  and  found  her  in  her  wonted  place  at  home. 
She  had  never  been  late  after  the  one  occasion  when  she 
had  refused  to  give  any  account  of  her  movements. 
"  There  is  a  shadow  on  your  heart  about  me." 

He  looked  miserable,  and  in  the  very  last  stages  of 
decline.  It  was  most  curious  what  a  power  he  had  of 
suddenly  making  himself  appear  as  though  at  death's  door. 
That  ashen  look  on  his  face  always  went  straight  to 
Nora's  heart,  and  he  knew  it. 

"  Do  not  ever  desert  me,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  with 
indescribable  pathos  and  appeal.  "  You  have  all  my 
life's  happiness  —  yes,  and  my  life  itself  in  your  hands. 
You  led  me  out  of  my  death-like  loneliness,  and  made 
me  live  and  love.  It  is  your  duty  to  stand  by  me. 
The  day  you  turn  from  me,  my  Athene,  will  be  my 
last  day  on  earth." 

After  this,  Nora  had  another  wave  of  tenderness  for 
him,  and  Bevan  was  satisfied  that  his  influence  over  her 

278 


A  Heart's  Outpouring 

remained  unimpaired.  But  he  wished  to  push  on  the 
wedding,  which  had  been  arranged  for  June.  When, 
however,  he  suggested  this  to  her,  she  would  not  hear 
of  it.  So  he  let  it  alone ;  but  sometimes  he  brought  in 
a  wedding  present  for  her;  and  the  very  way  in  which 
he  offered  it  was  pathetic  in  itself. 

u  You  see  I  have  no  relations  who  would  naturally 
offer  you  a  gift  of  greeting.  So  I  must  be  my  own 
mother  and  father,  my  own  uncles  and  aunts,  my  own 
cousins." 

He  brought  her  beautiful  gifts,  carefully  chosen  ones 
too :  books  and  pictures,  and  fine  old  silver. 

"  This  is  what  my  aunt  sends  you,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  a  splendid  old  Queen  Anne's  silver  tea-service,  and 
smiling  with  a  kind  of  melancholy  pride. 

Nora  was  touched  by  his  devotion  to  her,  and  ashamed 
of  all  her  conflicting  emotions  and  doubts ;  for  he  had 
never  lost  the  power  of  making  her  feel  in  the  wrong. 
She  was  always  uneasy  about  him,  and  went  through 
miseries  of  self-reproach  when  she  wounded  his  sensi- 
tiveness by  doubt  or  neglect  or  indifference.  All  the 
same,  she  was  nearer  to  emancipation  than  she  knew. 
She  had  been  endlessly  kind  to  little  Madge  Carson,  who 
had  proved  at  first  a  most  unmanageable  subject.  Her 
moroseness  and  ungraciousness  were  so  persistent,  that 
Nora  began  to  feel  the  task  an  impossible  one,  and  wrote 
so  to  Mrs  Ellerton,  who  had  suddenly  sailed  for  South 
Africa.  And  one  day  she  told  Madge  Carson  that  she 
would  not  be  coming  again. 

"  You  seem  to  resent  my  coming,"  Nora  said.  "  If 
it  were  any  pleasure  to  you,  I  should  feel  differently 
about  it." 

The  only  answer  the  girl  gave,  was  to  burst  out 
crying. 

279 


The  Fowler 

"  Oh,  don't  forsake  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  look  forward 
so  much  to  your  visits.  You  don't  know  how  much  I 
look  forward  to  them.  It  is  just  my  horrid  pride  and 
reserve  which  make  me  such  a  boor ;  and  then  I  am  so 
miserable  and  down  on  my  luck  —  that  makes  me  a  boor 
too.  But,  indeed,  I  am  grateful,  do  believe  that." 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  don't  want  gratitude,"  Nora  said, 
bending  over  her.  "  I  only  wish  to  be  sure  that  you  do 
not  prefer  my  absence  to  my  presence.  Come,  cheer  up  ! 
I  won't  forsake  you,  if  you  really  want  me.  I  assure 
you  I  am  glad  enough  to  have  any  one  to  help  ever  so 
little  —  and  you  more  than  any  one.  And  you  need  a 
little  companionship  and  kindness  just  now,  and  I  need 
to  give  it.  For,  if  you  only  knew,  I  am  myself  miserable 
enough.  So  you  see  it  is  a  give-and-take,  and  you  must 
not  feel  it  necessary  to  your  pride  to  be  so  forbidding  and 
disagreeable.  I  understand  all  about  the  pride,  and  you 
can  put  it  away  quite  light-heartedly.  Some  day,  when 
your  turn  comes,  I'll  put  mine  away.  Now,  is  that  a 
bargain  ? " 

The  ice  broke  with  a  crash,  and  the  two  women  drew 
closer  together;  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see  how  Madge 
Carson  began  to  gather  up  strength  under  these  more 
favourable  conditions  of  mind  and  spirit.  With  re- 
newal of  strength  came  renewal  of  hopefulness  about 
her  plans  for  the  future.  She  put  aside  all  her  reserve, 
and  every  day  endeared  herself  more  and  more  to  Nora. 
Bits  of  fun  flashed  out,  sparks  of  mischief  too  ;  but  gen- 
erally, after  an  outburst  of  merriment,  she  fell  into  the 
depths  of  misery ;  and  it  was  on  one  of  these  occasions 
that  Nora  ventured  to  ask  her  what  was  the  nature  of 
her  secret  trouble.  She  turned  her  almost  blind  eyes  to 
Nora,  as  though  wishing  to  scan  her  face. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  and  with- 
280 


A  Heart's  Outpouring 

out  pausing  a  moment,  she  plunged  into  the  story  of  her 
life.  It  seemed  as  though  she  were  only  too  thankful  to 
ease  her  heart  to  Nora,  and  all  her  thoughts  and  feelings 
and  emotions  came  bounding  out,  glad  to  be  released. 
She  spoke  about  her  school-days,  her  life  at  home,  and 
her  many  ambitions. 

"  And  just  when  I  was  in  the  hey-day  of  good  health 
and  good  spirits,  self  containedness  and  bumptiousness," 
she  said,  "  I  met  a  very  strange  little  man,  who  first 
repelled  me,  and  then  attracted  me,  and  then  repelled  me, 
and  then  attracted  me  —  and  held  me  fast.  He  had  some 
subtle  kind  of  mesmeric  power,  and  he  mesmerised  me." 

She  paused,  and  Nora's  heart  beat  faster.  Was  it 
right  for  her  to  go  on  listening,  without  telling  Madge 
Carson  who  she  really  was  ?  And  yet  there  would  be 
no  harm  done  to  any  one  —  and  Nora  had  a  craving  to 
hear  the  whole  story  in  this  untrammelled  way.  If  she 
told  Madge  Carson  that  it  was  Nora  Penhurst  who  had 
been  tending  her  all  these  weeks,  she  knew  that  a  barrier 
would  immediately  rise  up  between  them  —  not  unsur- 
mountable,  but  still  a  temporary  hindrance  —  and  Nora 
felt  she  could  brook  no  delay.  So  she  gave  no  sign,  and 
Madge  Carson  went  on  : 

"  One  may  call  this  curious  influence  by  whatever 
name  one  chooses,  but  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  telling 
you  anything  sensational,  or  grotesquely  out  of  the  way. 
That  is  the  affair  of  the  fiction-writers :  they  are  obliged 
to  dress  up  their  facts.  But  I  only  have  to  do  with  the 
fundamental  idea.  The  man  mesmerised  me,  and  entirely 
against  my  will.  I  never  wished  to  give  in  one  inch  to 
him,  and  yet  before  a  few  weeks  were  over,  he  had  me 
completely  in  subjection,  mind  and  spirit.  It  was  my 
mind  that  he  wanted  to  seduce ;  he  let  me  recognise  in 
his  own  subtle  way  how  safe  I  was  with  him  in  all  other 

281 


The  Fowler 

respects.  And  that  gave  him  a  tremendous  power  over 
me,  and  he  knew  it,  and  used  it  to  wither  up  everything 
that  was  bright  and  joyous  in  my  nature " 

Nora  bent  forward  and  stirred  the  fire.  Ah,  she 
knew. 

Madge  continued  : 

"  It  was  much  more  satisfaction  to  a  character  like 
his  to  make  a  mental  wreck  of  a  woman  instead  of 
merely  entrapping  her  in  the  usual  way.  So  he  took 
the  flowers  of  my  mind,  and  turned  them  into  hideous 
weeds,  and  I  don't  think  any  man  can  do  a  worse  thing 
to  any  woman.  He  was  full  of  rank  poison,  and  his 
daily  joy  was  to  inject  me  with  it.  And  I  never  knew. 
But  those  around  me  knew  ;  and  they  tried  to  beat  him 
off,  as  one  might  a  foul  reptile.  I  did  not  understand 
all  that  until  afterwards.  But  there  came  a  day  when  I 
awoke,  and  found  myself  alone  and  friendless.  Every 
one  had  been  successfully  hounded  away  by  him  and  by 
me,  for  he  had  taught  me  to  see  life  through  his  eyes, 
and  I  had  hurled  my  bolt  of  scorn  and  distrust  against 
everything.  But  one  day  I  awoke,  and  was  free  again. 
It  was  the  day  my  darling  old  aunt  died,  and  as  I  bent 
over  her  in  those  last  moments,  I  realised  in  one  flash  of 
intelligence  how  I  had  hastened  her  end  by  her  anxiety 
for  me,  and  by  my  neglect  and  indifference,  and  by  my 
scorn  of  her  old  age.  And  now  it  was  all  too  late. 

"  4  My  darling,'  she  whispered,  *  that  man  —  your 

enemy  —  my  ene '  The  word  died  on  her  lips,  but 

she  looked  imploringly  to  me.  i  Auntie,'  I  cried,  l  I  see 
it  all  now  —  I  am  free  from  him  —  you  must  live,  dar- 
ling, and  we  will  regain  our  happiness.'  ...  A  faint 
smile  passed  over  her  dear  face,  and  she  died." 

Madge  Carson  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
seemed  to  have  relapsed  into  a  permanent  silence.  Nora 

282 


A  Heart's  Outpouring 

waited.  Her  face  was  very  pale.  The  room  was  quite 
dark,  save  for  the  light  of  the  fire ;  and  there  was  no 
sound  in  the  house,  nor  outside  in  the  little  by-street. 

At  last  Madge  went  on : 

"  It  took  me  many  months  to  right  myself  from  Theo- 
dore Bevan's  influence,  but,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  my 
spirit  lifted  itself  up  again,  and  a  smile  came  back  into 
my  heart.  I  went  away,  and  worked  hard  at  book- 
binding and  gold-tooling.  That  braced  me  up.  But  I 
missed  him  more  than  I  can  say  —  for  he  had  wormed 
himself  into  my  heart.  I  had  to  recall  to  myself 
sternly  his  mean-spiritedness,  his  paltriness,  his  quiet 
maliciousness." 

"  His  maliciousness  ?  "  Nora  said.  "  I  had  always 
thought  him  singularly  free  from  malice." 

But  Madge  did  not  heed  her. 

"  And  at  last  I  recovered  myself,"  she  said.  "  And  I 
made  a  sacred  vow,  that  whenever  I  heard  of  Theodore 
Bevan  in  connection  with  any  other  woman,  I  would 
seek  her  out,  no  matter  who  she  was,  and  warn  her 
against  that  little  human  devil.  Two  occasions  arose, 
and  I  fulfilled  my  vow.  Of  course,  I  did  no  good  at 
the  time.  The  Bishop's  daughter  said  that  doubtless  I 
meant  well,  but  that  Theodore  Bevan  was  not  the  man 
he  appeared  to  my  distorted  vision ;  and  when  some 
stray  truths  came  home  to  her,  some  unwelcome  ac- 
centuations of  her  own  secret  misgivings,  she  wept  on 
my  shoulder,  and  then  cried  from  rage  for  having  been 
so  weak,  and  then  apologised  for  her  temper.  She 
seems  later  on  to  have  rescued  herself  from  his  in- 
fluence, and  she  married  into  the  army.  And  the 
other  woman " 

Nora  bent  nearer  to  her  : 

"  Yes,  and  the  other  woman  ?  "  she  said,  eagerly. 
283 


The  Fowler 

"  Ah,  that  is  where  all  the  trouble  to  me  comes  in," 
Madge  Carson  said,  bitterly  ;  "  it  is  because  I  was  fool 
enough  to  bother  myself  about  that  other  woman,  that 
I  have  been  so  cruelly  punished.  It  was  all  wasted 
on  her,  and  she  could  have  very  well  looked  after  her- 
self—  hard,  scornful  creature  —  and  I  should  have  spared 
myself  the  injury  which  Theodore  Bevan  contrived  as 
his  revenge." 

Nora's  hands  were  clasped  tightly  over  her  knee. 
She  bit  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  simple  enough  revenge,"  continued 
Madge  Carson,  in  the  same  tone  of  bitterness ;  "  but  it 
was  masterly  because  irresistible.  I  had  picked  up 
the  threads  of  my  life  again,  and  I  was  engaged  to  a 
man  whom  I  loved  with  all  my  heart  —  my  employer  — 
a  master-bookbinder.  I  had  never  loved  any  one  but 
him.  I  did  not  love  Theodore  Bevan.  And  coming 
after  all  that  stress  and  strain  of  spirit,  my  love  for  him, 
and  his  for  me,  seemed  like  4  the  white  presences  of  the 
gods.'  But  suddenly  he  turned  against  me.  I  saw  the 
change  in  him,  and  wondered  what  I  could  have  done 
to  offend,  and  then  by  degrees  the  truth  came  out.  He 
had  been  told  evil  stories  of  me  —  and  he  believed  them. 
Some  one  had  taken  my  virtue,  and  torn  it  in  shreds 
for  me  —  and  he  saw  it  now  only  as  a  tattered  rag.  I 
do  not  judge  him  harshly,  for  the  best  of  men  believe 
at  once  evil  things  of  a  woman.  It  has  always  been  so. 
And  the  best  of  women  find  it  hard  to  believe  evil 
things  of  a  man ;  and  when  they  are  forced  to  believe, 
they  forgive.  It  has  always  been  so.  But  the  whole 
thing  broke  me  up ;  it  ploughed  into  me  terribly.  He 
offered  to  continue  to  give  me  work  —  my  gold-tooling 
was  satisfactory,  even  if  my  character  was  not.  But 
I  could  not  accept  it  from  him ;  and  so  I  drifted  into 

284 


A  Heart's  Outpouring 

indifference  and  poverty,  and  fell  ill  from  scarlet  fever. 
And  you  know  the  rest.  But  I  sit  and  think  of  what 
my  life  might  have  been,  if  I  had  gone  my  own  way, 
and  let  Theodore  Bevan  go  his — unchecked.  Then  I 
should  have  kept  my  love,  and  not  known  that  he 
would  have  doubted  me  and  turned  from  me  if  the 
test  came." 

"  And  are  you  sure  that  it  was  Theodore  Bevan  who 
spread  these  reports  against  you  ?  "  Nora  asked. 

"  Absolutely  sure,"  Madge  Carson  answered.  "  I 
heard  it  from  my  master-bookbinder  himself.  No  one 
else  but  Bevan  could  have  thrown  such  a  reality  over  an 
untruth ;  for  our  intimacy  looked  compromising  enough 
to  satisfy  all  the  hungry  mouths  and  cackling  tongues." 

"  And  that  other  woman  ? "  Nora  asked  falteringly. 
"  What  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  more  of  her.  I  hope  never  to  see 
her  again,"  Madge  answered,  with  renewed  bitterness. 
"  She  has  brought  all  this  trouble  on  me." 

"  But  she  was  not  to  know  that,"  Nora  said,  in  plead- 
ing tones.  "  And  you  yourself  sought  the  interview 

—  it  was  not  her  wish  —  you  pressed  it  on  her " 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  I  myself  sought  the 
interview?"  Madge  Carson  asked. 

"  You  told  me  so,"  Nora  said ;  "  and  it  was  not  likely 
that  she  would  have  been  very  friendly.  She  would 
not  have  been  at  her  best.  How  could  she  be  ?  You 
would  not  have  been  at  your  best.  And  after  all,  she 
was  in  the  very  net  from  which  you  had  only  just 
freed  yourself.  She  was  probably  very  unhappy,  and 
full  of  doubts  and  misgivings ;  and  probably,  as  the  time 
went  on,  she  became  still  more  unhappy,  and  could 
not,  could  not  free  herself  from  this  man's  influence 

—  did  not  know  how  —  did    not  always  want  to  know 

285 


The  Fowler 

how,  for  in  his  own  way  he  loved  and  needed  her;  and 
that  made  her  bondage  the  greater.  Indeed,  indeed, 
you  are  hard  on  her — she  would  not  have  wished  to 
bring  unhappiness  on  you.  If  she  had  known  it,  she 
would  have  come  to  you  long  ago,  and  held  out  her  arms 
to  help  and  comfort  you.  There  was  nothing  she  would 
not  have  done  to  bring  balm  to  your  troubled  spirit. 
She  would  have " 

Madge  Carson  stood  up  and  stiffened  herself. 

The  truth  broke  in  upon  her. 

"You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about  that  other 
woman,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

She  stood  there,  a  little,  rigid,  defiant  figure.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  compromise  about  her. 

But  Nora  put  her  hand  fearlessly  on  Madge's 
shoulders. 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  that  other  woman,"  she  said,  gen- 
tly. "  She  has  learnt  to  love  you." 

And  the  next  moment  they  were  both  seated  close  to- 
gether on  the  sofa,  tear-stained  hand  in  tear-stained 
hand. 


286 


Cowardice 


CHAPTER  VI 

COWARDICE 

IT  was  about  six  o'clock  of  that  same  evening  when 
Nora,  who  had  not  recovered  from  the  shock  of  hearing 
Madge  Carson's  pitiful  story,  sat  in  the  drawing-room  of 
her  home,  working  at  her  embroidery  on  a  frame,  and 
occasionally  looking  up  at  Theodore  Bevan  —  looking  up 
at  him  as  though  she  would  have  given  anything  in  the 
world  to  speak  out  her  many  tumultuous  thoughts. 
But  his  presence  and  individuality  always  constrained 
her.  He  paralysed  her  tongue  as  well  as  her  heart  and 
brain.  She  was  afraid  of  him.  And  he  was  particularly 
charming  that  night  —  almost  boyishly  playful.  He  had 
brought  another  wedding-present,  a  beautiful  little  read- 
ing-lamp. 

"  That  is  what  my  youngest  brother  would  have 
given  you,  if  I  had  ever  had  one !  "  he  said. 

No,  she  felt  she  could  not  speak  with  him  about  little 
Madge  Carson  that  night ;  perhaps  to-morrow  —  or  the 
next  day  —  some  day  and  some  hour  when  she  could 
conquer  her  cowardice.  She  knew  it  was  cowardice. 
She  was  ashamed  of  it.  But  she  could  not  over- 
come it. 

The  bell  rang,  and  a  strange  thrill  passed  through  her. 
The  door  was  opened  by  the  servant,  and  Brian  Upping- 
ham  came  in.  He  glanced  at  Nora,  at  Bevan,  at  the 
wedding-gifts  on  the  table.  He  looked  pale,  but  quietly 
determined. 

"  Miss  Penhurst,"  he  said,  "  I  think  you  will  not  re- 
287 


The  Fowler 

fuse  to  grant  me  just  two  minutes'  hearing.  No,  no, 
Mr  Bevan,  I  take  no  orders  from  you." 

Theodore  Bevan  turned  to  Nora.  His  mobile  face 
was  distorted  with  rage  and  every  kind  of  evil  passion. 
He  struck  terror  into  her  heart.  There  was  no  trace 
now  of  that  boyish  tenderness  and  simplicity  and  yearn- 
ing to  be  loved.  She  saw  in  that  moment  the  outward 

O 

and  visible  sign  of  the  real  Theodore  Bevan  —  a  man 
cruel  and  malevolent.  But  in  the  next  instant  he  had 
composed  his  features. 

"Tell  him  to  go,"  he  said,  huskily,  to  Nora;  "tell 
him  to  go." 

But  Nora  had  gathered  together  some  of  her  old 
independence  and  spirit. 

"  No,"  she  cried.  "  Mr  Uppingham  shall  stay  and 
speak  his  mind." 

At  her  words  a  glow  of  tenderness  spread  itself  over 
Brian's  troubled  countenance. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  gently,  "  I  have  no  wish  to  harass  you, 
and  I  did  not  even  realise  that  you  would  not  be  alone. 
But  since  Mr  Bevan  is  here,  I  am  glad  to  meet  him 
again,  and  in  your  presence.  Once  before,  I  met  him 
face  to  face,  and  laid  hands  on  him.  I  dare  say  you 
know  all  about  that.  Then  he  sought  his  revenge  on 
me,  to  which  of  course  he  was  entitled.  I  do  not  blame 
him  for  deciding  on  that  particular  kind  of  revenge 
which  would  wound  me  more  than  anything  else — the 
loss  of  your  esteem.  But  he  used  a  poisoned  blade.  It 
was  only  yesterday  that  I  learnt  from  more  sources  than 
one,  that  he  had  been  maliciously  circulating  Nurse 
Isabel's  name  about  with  mine.  It  has  been  very  hard 
on  her,  and  she  has  been  suffering  from  poverty  and 
disheartenment.  And  I  have  been  suffering  from  the 
grief  of  fearing  that  you  believed  those  evil  words  of  her 

288 


Cowardice 

and  me.  So  I  am  here  to-day  to  tell  you  —  in  the  name 
of  my  dear  mother  who  brought  me  up  to  safeguard  a 
woman's  honour,  and  not  to  wreck  it  —  I  am  here  to 
tell  you  in  her  dear  name,  that  Nurse  Isabel  and  I  have 
never  been  anything  except  the  kindliest  comrades ;  and 
if  Mr  Bevan  has  made  you  think  otherwise  —  even  with 
a  passing  shadow  of  a  thought  —  then,  indeed,  he  has  had 
his  full  revenge  on  me.  Nothing  on  earth  could  have 
wounded  me  more.  But  I  have  at  least  the  right  to  tell 
you  that  we  have  been  maligned,  and  you  misjudge 
Nurse  Isabel  if  you  believe  any  of  the  scandals  about 
her,  strewn  broadcast  by  Mr  Bevan.  It  is  the  very 
meanest  thing  for  a  man  to  do  to  a  woman,  because  he 
knows  it  to  be  effectual,  even  in  these  so-called  advanced 
days.  And  now  that  is  all  I  came  to  3^7.  I  thank  you 
with  my  whole  heart,  Miss  Penhurst,  for  hearing  me  out." 

The  door  closed,  and  he  had  gone. 

If  Theodore  Bevan  would  only  have  spoken  one  single 
indignant  word  against  Brian  and  his  visit ;  if  he  had 
turned  on  Nora  and  let  loose  his  anger  on  her  for  having 
dared  allow  the  intruder  to  linger  in  the  room;  if  he 
had  shown  any  sign  whatsoever  of  antagonism  or  re- 
sentment,—  Nora's  spirit  would  have  broken  from  its 
prison-house  that  night. 

But  he  said  nothing  at  all.  He  crouched  over  the 
fire,  shivered,  put  on  a  fresh  log,  shivered  again,  looked 
the  very  picture  of  illness,  childlike  helplessness,  and 
loneliness ;  and  his  apathy  numbed  her.  She  made 
no  comments.  She  asked  no  questions.  She  thought 
of  little  Madge  Carson  and  her  master  bookbinder;  of 
Nurse  Isabel  and  her  damaged  reputation ;  of  the  his- 
torian and  his  dignified  denial.  And  she  thought  of 
Theodore  Bevan's  distorted  face.  And  she  too  shivered. 

But  she  remained  silent. 
19  289 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    REINSTATEMENT    OF    NURSE    ISABEL 

THE  great  specialist  sent  for  Nurse  Isabel,  much  to  her 
astonishment,  for  she  had  regarded  his  dismissal  of  her 
as  final.  He  told  her  that  the  reason  he  had  written 
her  on  his  books  again  was  that  he  had  received  a  visit 
from  Brian  Uppingham,  which  had  greatly  impressed 
him. 

"  He  came  to  speak  up  for  you,"  the  doctor  said,  in 
his  practical,  rather  brusque  way.  "  I  was  utterly  sur- 
prised at  his  coming,  because  in  the  reports  which  reached 
me,  it  was  his  name  which  was  coupled  with  yours." 

"  His  name  coupled  with  mine  ? "  Nurse  Isabel 
repeated. 

"  He  evidently  had  no  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  report," 
continued  the  doctor,  glancing  at  her  with  his  keen  eyes. 
11  And  he  was  able  to  deny  it  as  man  to  man.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  also  did  not  know  of  this  ?  Yet 
you  knew  that  slurs  were  being  cast  on  your  reputation. 
I  told  you  so  myself,  and  that  I  did  not  care  to  be 
bothered  with  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  matter." 

"  You  never  even  gave  me  a  chance  of  denying  this  or 
any  other  slander,"  Nurse  Isabel  said.  "  Oh  yes,  I 
knew  that  unpleasant  things  were  being  said  against  me, 
but  until  now  it  never  struck  me  as  possible  that  Mr 
Uppingham's  name  could  be  dragged  in  to  injure  me 
—  and  him.  He  has  always  been  most  kind  to  me,  and 
I  should  be  the  last  person  to  wish  to  wound  him. 
I  nursed  him  for  three  months.  He  laughed  at  my  follies 

290 


The  Reinstatement  of  Nurse  Isabel 

and  frivolities  and  all  my  professional  and  human  short- 
comings, and  I  often  thought  him  intolerably  slow " 

(The  doctor  smiled.  There  was  something  very 
quaint  in  Nurse  Isabel's  frankness.) 

«  —  and  depressing.  And  when  it  was  all  over,  and 
he  had  gone  back  to  his  usual  work,  I  found  I  was  a 
stronger  woman,  with  a  stronger  hold  on  the  best  things 
in  life.  And  that  is  the  whole  history  of  it  from  begin- 
ning to  end." 

The  Doctor  had  risen  from  his  comfortable  arm-chair. 
This  great  specialist  was  great  enough  to  be  feeling 
ashamed  of  himself. 

"  The  fact  is,  Nurse,"  he  said,  furridging  amongst  his 
papers,  —  "  the  fact  is,  that  in  the  hurry  and  scurry  after 
wealth  and  position,  one  is  liable  to  think  only  of  one's 
own  self,  and  of  what  is  conducive  to  one's  own  interests 
and  comfort.  One  has  scarcely  the  time  to  be  human, 
and  never  the  time  to  be  just.  I  felt  that  I  had  quite 
enough  to  do  without  examining  into  the  pros  and  cons 
of  your  morality.  It  was  far  easier  to  scratch  your  name 
off  my  books.  Cowardly  of  me  —  and  like  a  man.  But 
I  am  very  sorry.  Pray  forgive  me,  and  take  this  case 
from  me.  Some  day,  when  I  have  leisure,  I  will  talk 
further  with  you.  You  women  are  strange  creatures. 
And  look  here  —  when  you  have  done  with  this  partic- 
ular patient,  I  shall  have  plenty  of  other  work  for  you. 
And  I  will  see  you  safely  through  these  troubled  waters." 

He  patted  her  kindly  on  the  arm,  gave  her  all  his 
instructions,  and  dismissed  her.  Meanwhile  the  electric 
bell  had  been  sounding  incessantly,  and  the  over-heated 
waiting-room  was  being  filled  up  with  the  usual  crowd 
of  sufferers  —  real  and  imaginary.  But  when  Nurse 
Isabel  had  left  him,  and  he  had  returned  to  his  usual 
impersonal  routine,  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  him  to  feel 

291 


The  Fowler 

that  he  had  spared  the  time  to  be  human.  It  influ- 
enced the  whole  of  his  morning's  work  too ;  and  he 
prescribed  easier  distances  for  hopeless  cases,  and  less 
impossible  undertakings  for  those  who  were  short  of 
time  and  money.  And  some  people  only  paid  half 
fees  that  day,  and  others  paid  nothing.  But  that  was 
not  anything  unusual  in  his  or  any  one  else's  consult- 
ing-room. And  Nurse  Isabel  went  on  her  way,  torn 
by  many  varying  emotions,  of  gratitude,  relief,  vexation, 
and  distress.  She  was  wounded  beyond  all  words  for 
her  historian's  sake.  That  was  her  first  and  strongest 
concern.  She  thought  of  his  clean  life  and  upright  man- 
hood j  and  with  all  the  real  generosity  and  unselfishness 
of  her  nature  she  was  indignant  for  him.  Truly  women 
are  curious  complicated  creatures —  such  subtle  entangle- 
ments of  heart  and  head,  worldliness  and  spirituality. 
She  did  not  say  : 

"  Oh !  it  does  not  matter  for  a  man.  He  can  look 
after  himself;  a  little  more  or  less  of  that  sort  of  thing 
makes  no  difference  to  him  in  his  social  life,  and  the 
women  think  it  is  smart  and  suitable." 

No,  she  did  not  dismiss  it  like  that.  She  thought  of 
his  deep  unalterable  love  for  Nora,  and  that  it  would 
wound  him  cruelly  to  think  that  she  would  have  heard 
this,  and  perhaps  been  influenced  by  that  little  Bevan  to 
believe  it.  She  saw  the  whole  process  clearly  :  Bevan's 
revenge  on  her  for  her  interference  between  him  and 
Nora  in  the  old  days,  and  his  fixed  determination  to  keep 
her  out  of  Nora's  life,  because  he  knew  that  she  read  and 
understood  him,  and  therefore  she  was  dangerous ;  and 
Bevan's  revenge  on  Brian  Uppingham  carried  out  in 
this  simple  but  effectual  plan  of  depreciating  him  in  the 
eyes  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved.  It  was  a  capital 
idea  of  his,  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  It  was 

292 


The  Reinstatement  of  Nurse  Isabel 

true  economy  of  labour.  Nurse  Isabel  pictured  to  her- 
self the  expression  on  his  face  when  he  was  evolving 
this  scheme. 

"  Little  contemptible  earth-man,"  she  said  to  herself 
as  she  went  along.  "  If  I  only  could  see  him,  I'd  like 
to  horsewhip  him." 

Engrossed  with  these  thoughts,  she  passed  into  a 
restaurant  in  Oxford  Street.  She  made  up  her  mind 
to  take  a  good  lunch  in  celebration  of  her  reinstatement, 
and  then,  before  entering  on  her  new  professional  duties 
in  the  evening,  to  hurry  off  to  see  Nora  Penhurst.  She 
settled  herself  down  at  the  only  table  where  there  was  a 
vacancy.  There  was  a  man  buried  in  a  newspaper,  but 
she  did  not  even  glance  at  him.  She  studied  the  menu, 
and  ordered  her  lunch  with  her  usual  air  of  a  princess 
incognita  —  what  an  admirable  and  helpful  attribute  in 
this  snobbish  old  world  !  —  and  then  the  man  emerged 
from  the  newspaper.  It  was  Theodore  Bevan.  There 
they  sat,  side  by  side,  those  two,  and  never  spoke.  A 
less  worldly  woman  than  Nurse  Isabel  would  perhaps 
have  spoken.  Her  rage  and  indignation  would  have  got 
the  mastery  over  her  discretion.  But  she  knew  better. 
He  might  have  charged  her  with  annoying  him.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  directly  he  recognised  her,  he  made  up 
his  mind  that  if  she  addressed  him,  he  would  have  her 
removed  and  thus  disgrace  her.  But  she  was  discreetly 
silent  and  self-contained,  and  contented  herself  with 
glancing  at  him  and  wondering  more  than  ever  what 
Nora  could  have  found  in  him  to  admire.  And  then 
she  thought  of  Brian.  And  it  was  for  this  little  worm 
that  the  historian  had  been  put  on  one  side.  It  was 
scarcely  credible.  And  it  was  this  little  worm  who 
had  been  deliberately  injuring  her  own  good  name,  and 
burrowing  where  no  one  might  see  him  at  work.  Nurse 

293 


The  Fowler 

Isabel  nearly  had  a  seizure  from  suppressed  rage,  but 
she  did  not  give  in ;  she  sat  there  and  ate  her  lunch, 
ordered  her  coffee,  sipped  it  leisurely,  paid  her  bill  with 
graceful  condescension,  put  on  her  gloves  in  a  sort  of 
poetical  reverie,  and  finally  went  on  her  way. 

"  Little  beast !  "  she  thought.  "  At  least  he  cannot 
think  that  his  presence  embarrassed  me." 

She  had  no  idea  that  it  was  her  presence  which  em- 
barrassed him ;  for  he  was  himself  full  of  unrest.  He 
had  lost  or  mislaid  his  journal,  that  record  of  his  thoughts 
meant  for  no  eyes  except  his.  He  had  been  feeling  over- 
wrought these  last  few  days,  and  at  times  strangely 
absent-minded.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  strapped 
it  up  with  the  volumes  which  he  had  sent  back  to  the 
library,  or  had  he  perhaps  included  it  in  the  box  of 
second-hand  books  despatched  that  day  to  a  Working 
Men's  Club  in  the  North  ?  Oh,  perhaps,  after  all,  it 
was  reposing  in  some  safe  corner  in  his  room  :  still,  he 
had  looked  for  it  until  he  was  dazed.  What  books  had 
he  taken  to  Nora  last  evening  ?  Was  it  possible  — —  ? 
A  horrible  fear  came  into  his  mind,  and  then  he  dis- 
missed it,  and  remembered  with  relief  that  he  had  tied 
together  an  edition  de  luxe  of  'Omar  Khayyam'  and 
Shelley,  taken  them  to  Nora's  home,  and  placed  them 
on  the  table  where  his  other  wedding-presents  were 
kept.  Brian  Uppingham's  sudden  appearance  on  the 
scenes  had  made  him  forget  to  give  them  to  her, 
and  had  indeed  upset  all  his  quiet  calculations.  He 
had  hoped  that  none  of  his  plans  and  methods  would 
have  revealed  themselves  until  after  his  marriage  with 
Nora.  After  marriage  nothing  mattered.  When  he  had 
once  got  her  safely  under  his  roof  as  his  wife,  he  would 
allow  none  of  these  ups  and  downs,  these  varying  moods, 
—  these  periods  of  doubt  and  belief.  There  should  be  an 

294 


The  Reinstatement  of  Nurse  Isabel 

unbroken  submission.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  about 
that.  And  whenever  he  thought  of  it  his  face  grew 
harder  and  more  determined.  If  Nora  could  have  seen 
him  thus,  what  would  she  have  thought  ?  But  she  had 
had  a  glimpse  of  his  real  nature  as  expressed  on  his 
countenance;  and  the  consciousness  of  that  added  to 
his  mental  uneasiness.  And  now  that  detestable  woman 
Nurse  Isabel  cropped  up  from  nowhere  to  accentuate 
his  fears.  Supposing  that  she,  as  well  as  the  historian, 
took  it  into  her  head  to  go  straight  to  Nora  ?  But 
perhaps  the  report  had  not  yet  reached  her — for  prob- 
ably Uppingham  had  not  told  her.  And  reports  gener- 
ally reached  last  of  all  the  very  people  against  whom 
they  were  levelled.  He  became  more  uneasy.  Sup- 
posing she  was  on  her  way  even  now  ?  Theodore 
Bevan  hurriedly  paid  his  bill  and  followed  her.  Yes, 
he  saw  her  get  into  an  omnibus  which  would  land  her 
near  Nora's  home.  Of  course  she  might  not  be  going 
there  —  but  there  was  the  chance.  He  took  a  hansom, 
and  of  course  arrived  first.  The  servant  told  him  that 
Nora  was  out,  but  he  passed  into  the  drawing-room. 
The  servant  disliked  him,  but  she  could  not  help 
noticing  how  ill  he  looked. 

"  At  least  I  shall  be  here  to  prevent  my  Athene  from 
seeing  that  odious  woman,  if  she  does  come,"  he 
thought. 

He  went  straight  to  the  table  where  Nora  kept  some 
of  her  wedding  gifts,  and  there  to  his  unutterable  relief 
he  found  the  edition  de  luxe  of  '  Omar  Khayyam '  tied 
up  with  a  handsome  volume  of  Shelley,  and  with  noth- 
ing else.  That  was  his  own  especial  knot,  and  thes 
parcel  had  been  put  on  one  side  and  forgotten.  Then 
the  journal  had  either  gone  to  the  North,  or  else  was 
waiting  with  the  six  library  books  in  his  offices  in  the 

295 


The  Fowler 

City.  He  knew  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  have 
made  such  a  terrible  mistake,  but  even  the  coolest  heads 
blundered  sometimes,  and  for  the  moment  he  had  been 
anxious.  Ah,  that  journal !  How  many  profitable 
hours  he  had  spent  over  it  !  How  he  had  loved  it,  and 
lingered  over  it !  It  was  intolerable  that  he  should 
have  misplaced  it.  More  than  once  he  determined  to 
hurry  away  and  renew  his  searches  for  it,  but  his  dogged 
persistence  deterred  him  from  leaving  Nora's  home. 
So  he  waited. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Roger  Penhurst  got  into 
the  same  omnibus  with  Nurse  Isabel,  and  they  came 
together.  She  had  not  seen  him  for  some  time,  and 
the  change  in  his  appearance  shocked  her.  Still,  the 
old  geniality  was  there,  though  modified  by  sadness. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  said,  as  she  gave  him  a 
help  out  of  the  omnibus.  "  I  feel  about  a  hundred  and 
three  to-day,  but  not  too  old  not  to  feel  considerably 
younger  when  a  charming  damsel  like  yourself  deigns 
to  smile  on  my  unworthy  and  prehistoric  self." 

She  told  him  about  Brian  and  herself  and  the  doctor, 
and  that  she  owed  it  both  to  herself  and  the  historian 
to  see  Nora  personally.  Roger  knew  that  she  had 
called  at  the  house  several  times,  and  that  Nora  had 
made  excuses  about  seeing  her,  and  finally  had  asked 
her  not  to  come. 

"  But  you  shall  see  her  this  time,  my  dear,"  the  old 
man  said.  "  We  will  go  straight  up  to  my  study,  and 
when  she  comes  in  I  will  send  for  her.  Not  that  it 
will  do  any  good.  That  Bevan  fellow  has  completely 
changed  her.  And  to  think  that  in  six  weeks  from 
to-morrow  she  marries  him." 

He  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  pavement  and  tapped 
the  ground  with  his  stick. 

296 


The  Reinstatement  of  Nurse  Isabel 

"  That  is  the  day  I  think  I  am  going  to  die,"  he  said. 
And  then  he  added,  with  pathetic  humour, "  But  of  course 
I  shall  not.  Things  don't  fit  in  like  that  in  life.  And 
I  shall  probably  live  for  ages  yet,  and  take  up  Sanskrit, 
and  learn  to  bicycle.  In  fact,  my  dear,  I  have  ordered 
the  bicycle.  And  I  had  my  first  lesson  this  morning  ! " 

When  they  reached  his  home,  he  told  the  servant  to 
send  Nora  up  to  his  study  when  she  came  in,  and  merely 
to  say  that  he  wished  to  see  her  at  once. 

"  Mr  Bevan  is  waiting  in  the  drawing-room,"  the 
servant  said. 

"Ah,"  said  Roger,  "be  sure  and  send  Miss  Nora 
direct  to  me.  Mr  Bevan  can  continue  to  wait." 

Then  Nurse  Isabel  and  Roger  went  upstairs,  and  the 
kind  old  man  signed  to  her  to  take  his  easy-chair.  There 
was  an  air  of  desolation  about  the  room,  which  seemed 
to  correspond  with  the  vague  sort  of  desolation  encom- 
passing Nora's  old  father.  There  were  little  signs  of 
neglect  which  only  a  woman  would  notice.  The  plants 
were  dead  in  the  pots.  One  or  two  of  the  pictures  were 
awry.  The  c  Dreshout  Shakspeare  '  had  broken  its  string 
and  fallen  down. 

"  I  don't  spend  much  of  my  time  here  now,"  the  old 
man  said,  following  Nurse  Isabel's  glance  round  the 
room,  which  had  once  been  such  a  happy  sanctum  to 
him.  "  It  does  not  look  lived  in,  does  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Isabel,  gently,  and  she  picked  up  the  pic- 
ture, and  began  re-tying  the  cord. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  more  to  himself  than  her, 
"the  whole  thing  has  ploughed  into  me  terribly  — 
terribly." 

Nurse  Isabel  nodded  her  head  sympathetically.  She 
felt  that  any  comment  from  her  would  seem  like  an 
intrusion  on  his  grief. 

297 


The  Fowler 

"  But  I  don't  blame  her,  poor  child,"  he  said,  tenderly. 
"  Life  is  a  very  difficult  language,  and  there  are  not 
many  of  us  who  can  write  even  one  sentence  of  it  with- 
out a  serious  blunder.  And  no  one  shall  dare  to  blame 
her,  if  I  don't.  I  am  quite  determined  about  that." 

He  had  been  leaning  back,  looking  intensely  fatigued. 
But  he  straightened  himself  as  he  spoke  those  last  words. 
Then,  without  any  warning,  he  sank  back  and  fainted. 
Nurse  Isabel  was  astir  at  once,  doing  all  she  could  for 
him.;  but  he  did  not  show  any  signs  of  returning  to  con- 
sciousness, and  she  was  just  becoming  thoroughly  alarmed 
at  his  condition,  when  the  door  opened  softly,  and  Nora 
came  in.  She  was  almost  as  ashen  as  her  father  lying  so 
still  on  the  couch. 

"  Oh,  father,  father,"  she  cried  passionately,  kneeling 
beside  him.  She  kissed  his  dear  hands  —  covered  them 
with  kisses.  She  kissed  his  grand  old  brow ;  all  the  old 
endearing  names,  which  he  had  so  loved,  leaped  from  her 
in  a  very  torrent  of  love  and  tenderness. 

"  Oh,  my  old  father,  my  old  father,"  she  cried,  "what 
have  I  been  doing  to  you  all  these  months  —  what  have 
I  been  thinking  of?  Open  your  dear  eyes  —  speak  to 
me  —  listen  to  me.  I  see  it  all  clearly,  clearly  now. 
Oh,  my  darling  old  father-friend  —  always  so  good  to  me, 
so  gentle,  so  genial,  so  undemanding  —  my  darling  old 
chum  and  playmate  —  no  one  on  earth  like  you  —  never 
has  been  —  never  will  be  again  —  and  I  to  have  so 
wounded  and  neglected  you  and  pushed  you  on  one  side, 
and  darkened  your  bright  spirit.  But  it  is  all  over,  my 
old  sweetheart  of  a  father  —  and  the  scales  have  fallen 
from  my  eyes.  .  .  ." 

And  then,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  returning  consciousness, 
Roger  Penhurst  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul !  "  he  said,  dreamily. 
298 


The  Reinstatement  of  Nurse  Isabel 

The  two  women  bent  eagerly  over  him. 

"  My  Nora,"  he  said,  gradually  coming  to  — "  and  that 
other  villain,  Nurse  Isabel.  Ah  yes,  I  remember  now. 
No,  I  don't,  but  ..." 

Then  there  came  a  pause  and  a  relapse  into  lethargy. 
And  then : 

"Surely,  surely,"  he  murmured,  "I  heard  something 
about  an  old  sweetheart  of  a  father  —  or  was  I  dreaming 
that  my  dear  girl  spoke  so  lovingly  to  me  —  just  like  her 
old  young  self?  " 

They  helped  him  to  raise  himself,  and  he  leaned  his 
head  on  Nora's  shoulder. 

"My  old,  old  sweetheart  of  a  father,"  Nora  whispered, 
"it  is  I  who  have  been  dreaming  all  this  time,  but  now 
I  am  awake." 

He  made  no  answer,  asked  no  questions,  but  lifted  her 
hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  silently.  The  old  man 
knew  that  he  had  found  his  beloved  daughter  again. 


299 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE    NET    IS    BROKEN 

NORA  had  been  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  being  by 
Madge  Carson's  account  of  Theodore  Sevan's  influence, 

o  ' 

and  of  the  cruel  way  in  which  he  had  set  to  work 
to  punish  the  little  bookbinder  for  having  warned 
her.  He  had  hit  on  the  best  device,  for  he  had  broken 
her  heart  and  spirit.  Nothing  but  intimidation  had 
prevented  Nora  from  taxing  him  with  it  that  same 
evening.  She  went  to  bed  ashamed  of  her  cowardice, 
shocked  by  this  discovery  of  Theodore  Bevan's  con- 
temptible meanness,  and  curiously  thrilled  by  the  unex- 
pected appearance  of  Brian  Uppingham.  She  saw  him 
standing  there  now,  denying  in  Bevan's  very  face  the 
truth  of  these  libels  concerning  himself  and  Nurse 
Isabel,  so  ingeniously  circulated  by  his  successful  rival. 
Had  she  herself  really  believed  them  ?  When  she  saw 
the  historian  and  heard  his  voice  again,  her  heart  yearned 
to  him,  and  she  knew,  as  indeed  she  had  known  all 
along  —  if,  poor  girl,  she  could  only  have  allowed  herself 
the  benefit  of  the  knowledge  —  that  there  could  never 
have  been  a  doubt  about  his  unalterable  loyalty  to 
her  —  that  it  was  foreign  to  his  nature  to  be  toying 
and  tampering  with  one  woman  and  offering  a  soiled 
love  to  another  woman.  During  that  long  night  in 
the  silence  of  her  bedroom,  Nora  strove  with  herself 
for  her  own  freedom,  as  we  all  must.  And  when  the 
grey  dawn  came,  she  was  still  a  bondswoman,  even 
though  she  had  seen  herself  face  to  face :  seen  her 

300 


The  Net  is  Broken 

folly,  realised  her  weakness,  her  cowardice,  her  selfish- 
ness. Yes,  she  understood  the  whole  history  of  it  now ; 
she  saw  how  she  had  wronged  Brian  and  wronged 
Nurse  Isabel ;  she  saw  how  she  had  neglected  her 
old  father  and  broken  his  heart  —  dimmed  his  bright 
spirit — bitterly,  bitterly  she  reproached  herself  for  that. 
She  saw  how  she  had  turned  from  her  old  friends, 
given  up  every  one  and  everything,  lost  her  enthusi- 
asms, her  honest  belief  in  people  and  things,  and  in 
the  value  and  beauty  of  life,  lost  even  her  simple,  un- 
sectarian  confidence  in  God,  the  Great  Mystery  of  whom 
one  may  assuredly  catch  a  golden  glimpse  through  any 
one  of  the  creaks  of  creed  —  or  all  of  them  —  or  some- 
how, —  no  matter  how.  But  even  this  had  slipped  from 
her.  It  had  gone  with  all  the  rest.  And  for  what,  for 
whom?  And  then  all  her  doubts  and  misgivings  of 
these  last  two  years  ranged  themselves  before  her  mind's 
eye  in  a  formidable  phalanx,  and  were  reinforced  by 
little  Madge  Carson's  experience,  and  by  the  discovery 
of  Theodore  Bevan's  contemptible  slandering.  She  had 
always  known  that  he  was  not  this  or  that,  that  or 
this,  great  or  gallant,  expansive,  noble;  but  she  had 
ever  believed  him  to  be  just  and  singularly  free  from 
malice.  And  now,  if  that  belief  were  shaken,  what 
remained  ?  Oh,  she  must  free  herself  from  him,  she 
must  summon  up  the  resolution  to  shake  him  off  and 
be  done  with  him  for  ever  —  it  was  not  too  late  —  other 
women  had  done  it  at  the  eleventh  hour:  other  women 
had  gathered  themselves  together,  and  why  not  she  ? 
She  would  no  longer  suffer  this  evil  influence  in  her  life. 
Ah,  all  along  she  had  known  it  to  be  evil.  Ever  since 
he  had  found  her  at  the  Castle,  she  knew  that  the  good 
in  her  had  been  struggling  with  the  evil,  and  the  evil 
had  conquered. 

301 


The  Fowler 

Education,  environment,  temperament,  her  own  pride, 
her  own  self-respect  —  nothing  had  sufficed  to  save  her 
from  the  primeval  struggle  between  good  and  ill  —  and 
nothing  had  helped  her.  She  had  been  as  weaponless 
as  any  girl  in  the  street.  And  she  had  fallen  like  any 
girl  in  the  street.  Oh,  perhaps  not  in  the  same  way, 
but  there  was  the  debasement  of  spirit,  and  the  cancer 
in  the  heart,  and  the  bitterness  of  defeat,  and  the  sick- 
ening sense  of  mental  servitude.  It  was  past  all  bearing. 
No,  no  !  .  She  would  not  stand  it  one  moment  longer. 
To-morrow  she  would  be  done  with  him  for  ever.  She 
would  harden  herself  against  him.  She  would  remember 
that  evil  look  on  his  face.  She  would  try  to  forget 
that  he  needed  her,  and  that  she  was  all  his  life  to  him 
—  all  he  had,  and  all  he  cared  for.  .  .  .  And  yet  how 
could  she  forsake  him  ?  Had  he  not  told  her  time  after 
time  that  the  day  when  she  turned  from  him  would  be 
his  last  day  on  earth  ?  .  .  .  And  how  could  she  bring 
heiself  to  do  it  ?  ...  And  yet,  what  right  had  he  to 
bind  her  thus  ?  Only  a  coward  would  tell  a  woman  that. 
.  .  .  But  then  he  was  not  like  other  men,  and  his  life 
had  been  desolate,  and  his  character  misunderstood,  and 
his  nature  warped.  .  .  .  And  perhaps,  nay,  surely,  he 
was  not  to  be  judged  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  any  one 
else.  And  perhaps  Madge  Carson  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  heart  had  exaggerated  —  and  yet.  .  .  . 

So  when  the  grey  dawn  came,  her  spirit  was  still  at 
war  within  her.  She  rose  from  her  bed,  put  on  her 
dressing-gown,  and  paced  her  room.  Her  beautiful  fair 
hair  fell  over  her  face  and  throat.  She  seemed  like  poor 
distraught  Ophelia,  for  whom  life  had  been  too  much. 

"  Is  there  nothing  to  help  me  ?  "  she  said,  wringing 
her  hands. 

She  crept  downstairs,  and  stood  outside  her  father's 
302 


The  Net  is  Broken 

bedroom.  She  put  her  cheek  against  the  door,  leaning 
almost  as  a  suppliant. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  "  if  I  could  only  break  these 
bonds !  " 

She  passed  into  his  study,  where  she  had  spent  so 
little  time  lately.  She  touched  his  things  —  his  books 
and  papers,  his  Sanskrit  grammar,  his  spectacles,  his 
almanac.  She  looked  at  the  quotation  for  the  day.  It 
was  from  Shakespeare  : 

"  Lift  up  thy  brow  and  with  a  great  heart  heave  away 
this  storm." 

She  stood  thinking  :  "  Is  that  an  omen  ?• "  But  there 
was  no  hope  in  her  heart  with  which  to  take  the  omen. 

Then,  like  some  restless  spirit,  she  went  downstairs 
into  the  drawing-room  and  paced  about  there,  wrestling 
with  her  foe,  conquering,  being  conquered,  and  becom- 
ing faint  with  the  contest.  She  turned  to  the  table 
where  she  kept  the  wedding-presents  which  Theodore 
Bevan  had  given  her.  Her  eyes  rilled  with  tears  as  she 
glanced  at  them,  all  so  carefully  chosen  to  suit  her  taste 
in  every  way. 

"  He  loves  me,"  she  said.  "  He  has  meant  well  by 
me.  Even  his  injustice  and  unkindness  to  others  have 
been  the  outcome  of  his  love  for  me." 

She  handled  the  gifts,  the  books,  the  miniatures,  the 
reading-lamp.  The  tears  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

Suddenly  she  saw  a  packet  of  books  addressed  to  her. 
She  remembered  that  Theodore  Bevan  had  brought  it 
on  the  previous  evening,  and  they  had  both  forgotten 
it,  owing  to  the  mental  disturbance  caused  by  the  his- 
torian's arrival.  Nora  now  unfastened  it ;  and,  to  her 
surprise,  the  package  contained  an  inner  packet  of  two 
books  done  up  together  in  Theodore  Bevan's  precise 
way  and  addressed  to  her,  —  also  a  Mudie  book  and 

3°3 


The  Fowler 

another  book — this  last  one  with  an  unlocked  clasp. 
She  held  the  inner  packet  in  her  hands,  but  did  not 
open  it.  She  glanced  at  the  Mudie  book.  It  was  a 
volume  of  Asiatic  travels  which  he  had  particularly 
recommended  to  her.  The  other  book  —  was  .  .  .  She 
turned  it  over  and  looked  inside.  The  pages  were 
closely  covered  with  Theodore  Bevan's  miniature  hand- 
writing. .  .  .  What  could  it  be  ?  What  could  it  con- 
tain ?  Was  it  an  outpouring  of  his  love  —  something 
he  had  written  about  her  ?  He  was  always  saying  that 
he  was  always  writing  about  her,  —  and  now  he  wanted 
her  to  see  it.  ...  Ah,  if  it  was  that,  it  would  be  better 
for  her  not  to  look.  It  would  make  the  task  of  dis- 
missing him  greater  and  bitterer.  .  .  .  She  put  the  book 
on  the  table,  and  turned  away.  But  the  temptation  was 
too  great.  She  took  hold  of  it  feverishly,  stood  unde- 
cided for  a  moment,  and  then  opened  it  again.  She 
stared  at  the  pages.  Her  face  became  rigid  as  she  read. 
She  was  reading  his  journal.  .  .  . 

Long  after  she  had  dropped  the  book  from  her  hands, 
she  sat  as  one  paralysed.  .  .  . 

Before  any  one  stirred  in  the  house,  she  went  straight 
off  to  Madge  Carson.  She  had  told  her  everything  the 
previous  evening,  and  Madge  had  begged  her  to  throw 
up  her  engagement  before  it  was  too  late.  Now  there 
was  no  need  for  Madge  to  entreat,  but  in  Nora's  bitter 
humiliation  and  mortification  she  sought  and  found 
solace  from  one  who  had  been  humiliated  by  the  same 
man.  She  stayed  with  Madge  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon, and  when  she  left,  she  made  a  solemn  promise 
that  she  would  not  delay  another  single  day  before 
ridding  herself  of  Theodore  Bevan. 

"  Be  of  good  courage,"  Madge  had  said  ;  "  you  can 
do  it." 

3°4 


The  Net  is  Broken 

Then  Nora  had  come  home  and  had  met  the  servant, 
who  told  her  that  her  father  was  lying  unconscious. 
Then  she  had  bent  over  him,  and  poured  out  her  heart 
in  grief  and  love.  And  now  she  and  Nurse  Isabel  were 
keeping  watch  in  his  bedroom,  relieved  to  see  him  sleep- 
ing so  quietly,  and  with  a  happy  smile  on  his  face.  There 
had  been  no  time  for  any  explanation  or  astonishment 
between  these  two  women,  who  had  not  met  for  many 
months  :  for  where  illness  and  anxiety  are  concerned,  any 
one  who  helps  is  taken  for  granted.  But  now  they 
looked  at  each  other,  and  Nora's  pale  face  flushed  with 
shame. 

"  Nurse  Isabel,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper, "  I  know  how 
badly  I  behaved  to  you.  I  feel  quite  broken-hearted 
about  everything.  I  blame  no  one  but  myself.  I  ought 
to  have  understood  better,  and  seen  more  clearly.  I  don't 
think  any  one  was  ever  so  wretched  as  I  am,  and  I  feel 
torn  in  pieces.  And  you've  been  so  good  to  me.  If  you 
did  what  I  deserved,  you  ought  to  turn  from  me  :  instead 
of  which,  here  you  are,  just  as  kind  and  friendly  as  at 
the  very  beginning,  although  you  know  what  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you,  and  what  I  have  been  saying  too." 

Nurse  Isabel  glanced  at  the  old  man,  and  then  signed 
to  Nora  to  follow  her  out  of  the  room ;  and  they  stood 
together  in  his  study. 

"Look  here,  Miss  Penhurst,"  she  said,  brusquely,  "you 
have  wounded  me,  and  it  is  no  use  pretending  you  haven't. 
I  never  did  any  harm  to  you.  But  you  have  done  a  great 
deal  of  harm  to  me,  and  in  more  ways  than  you  know." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  when  she  spoke  again  her 
voice  had  changed. 

"  My  poor  dear  girl,"  she  said,  as  she  put  both  her 
hands  on  Nora's.    "This  is  not  the  time  for  scolding 
you.     And  indeed  I  did  not  come  to  say  disagreeable 
20  305 


The  Fowler 

things.  I  only  came  to  tell  you  that  you  were  never  to 
believe  a  single  word  against  Brian  Uppingham  ;  that 
you  were  always  to  believe  that  he  is  the  soul  of  honour, 
without  any  thoughts  of  love  in  his  pure  heart  except  for 
you :  that  nothing  and  no  one  could  ever  change  him ; 
and  that  those  who  love  him  best  would  never  wish  him 
to  change  —  would  even  feel  that  they  had  lost  an  ideal 
in  life  if  he  could  change.  I  came  to  plead  with  you  for 
his  love  and  loyalty,  Miss  Penhurst.  You  may  think 
what  you  like  of  me  in  other  ways,  but  you  must  never 
believe  that  there  was  any  truth  in  these  malicious  reports 
set  on  foot  by  Theodore  Bevan." 

There  was  a  very  gentle  and  beautiful  smile  of  protect- 
ing love  on  Nurse  Isabel's  face.  It  spiritualised  her  whole 
presence.  Nora  saw  it,  and  forgot  all  her  own  troubles. 

"  Nurse  Isabel,"  she  said,  with  sudden  comprehension, 
44 you  love  him  yourself!  And  yet  you  would  not  have 
him  falter  one  hair's-breadth  away  from  me  —  me,  so 
unworthy  of  his  loyalty  and  love,  and  so  unworthy  of 
your  kindness  and  forgiveness  ? " 

"  Not  one  hair's-breadth,"  Nurse  Isabel  said,  gently. 
"  For  the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  you  know 
the  historian  loved  you  from  the  beginning.  When  you 
came  into  his  life,  he  sprang  up  to  greet  you.  He  had 
been  waiting  for  you  as  he  is  waiting  now  .  .  .  and  for 
no  one  else.  .  .  ." 

Nora  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  say  that." 

"  This  shadow  on  your  soul  will  pass,"  Nurse  Isabel 
continued,  as  though  she  had  not  heard.  "  You  will  look 
up  again  and  see  the  sunlight.  And  I  for  one  will  be 
glad,  for  his  sake  —  and  yours.  And  then  there  is  your 
old  father  sleeping  so  peacefully  in  the  next  room.  You 
know  how  glad  he  will  be.  It  will  mean  new  life  to 

306 


The  Net  is  Broken 

him,  and  before  it  is  too  late.  And  then  there  are  all 
your  friends  who  cling  to  you  and  believe  in  you  —  and 
I  still  wish  to  be  one  of  them  —  they  will  be  very  glad. 
And  Theodore  Bevan  —  " 

She  left  off,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  her  earnestness, 
a  twinkle  came  into  her  eye,  and  a  smile  of  mischief 
played  about  her  mouth. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  she  said, "  we've  forgotten  all  about 
him.  He  is  downstairs  in  the  drawing-room.  He  came 
in  just  before  your  father  and  myself." 

Nora  leaned  against  the  bookcase  and  looked  deadly 
pale.  She  knew  that  her  moment  had  come.  It  must 
not  be  to-morrow,  nor  the  next  day,  nor  the  next :  it  must 
be  now.  She  went  into  her  bedroom,  and  fetched  the 
journal;  and  when  she  returned  she  said  tremblingly: 

"Nurse  Isabel,  would  you  go  down  and  make  sure  he 
is  there  ?  I  don't  think  I  could  string  myself  up  unless 
I  knew  for  certain." 

Nurse  Isabel  asked  no  questions,  and,  nothing  reluc- 
tant, went  downstairs,  and  very  slowly  opened  the 
drawing-room  door. 

"  At  last  you  have  come,  my  Athene,"  Theodore 
Bevan's  voice  said. 

Nurse  Isabel  smile  delightedly.  She  lit  a  match,  for 
there  was  no  lamp,  and  the  fire  was  low. 

"  It  is  not  your  Athene,  you  see,"  she  said.  "  Ah, 
don't  alarm  yourself  about  me.  I  have  not  come  to  take 
you  to  task  about  all  the  malicious  lies  you've  been  tell- 
ing of  me.  I  have  only  come  to  say  that  Miss  Penhurst 
will  be  down  at  once.  Her  father  has  been  ill.  We 
knew  you  were  here,  but  in  the  hurry  and  anxiety  you 
were  forgotten.  So  now  good  evening.  I  am  going 
up  to  watch  by  Mr  Penhurst's  bedside.  Thank  you, 
there  is  no  danger,  but  still  a  nurse  in  the  house  is  always 

3°7 


The  Fowler 

useful  on  these  occasions.  And  I  happened  to  have 
planned  my  visit  for  the  right  time.  Dear  me !  It 
strikes  cold  in  this  room.  Pray  make  yourself  quite  at 
home,  and  put  some  more  coals  on  the  fire.  What  a 
capital  restaurant  that  was  !  " 

She  slipped  out  of  the  room,  and  told  Nora  that  Bevan 
was  there. 

Then  Nora  went  down.  She  looked  miserable,  but 
there  was  a  certain  dignity  and  resolution  about  her 
which  had  not  been  present  for  many  months.  Her 
beautiful  hair,  once  so  resplendent,  had  lost  its  glow  and 
vitality.  Her  face  had  thinned  down,  and  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  perpetual  strain.  She  did  not  look  like  a  ship 
in  full  sail  now.  She  looked  as  though  she  had  been 
storm-driven,  dismantled,  disabled,  and  yet  with  one 
supreme  effort  was  at  last  making  her  way  towards  the 
harbour.  Only  for  one  moment  she  paused,  with  her 
hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door.  In  the  other  hand  she 
held  the  journal.  Then  she  went  in.  Theodore  Bevan 
was  standing  in  front  of  the  fire,  supporting  his  chin 
with  both  his  hands.  He  seemed  lost  in  thought.  He 
did  not  move  his  position  when  Nora  entered. 

"  Here  is  your  journal,"  Nora  said,  quietly,  stretching 
out  the  lost  volume. 

He  started. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  deliberately,  "  this  record  of  your 
thoughts  and  plans  intended  only  for  your  eyes.  Here 
it  is  —  and  I  have  read  it." 

He  made  no  comment. 

"  But  even  if  I  had  not  read  it,"  she  continued,  gather- 
ing in  strength,  "  I  should  have  freed  myself  from  you 
this  very  day." 

He  remained  silent. 

"  But,  having  read  it,  my  eyes  have  grown  still  clearer, 
308 


The  Net  is  Broken 

and  everything  from  the  beginning  of  our  acquaintance 
up  to  this  very  day  stands  revealed  to  me,  and  by  you. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  sudden  excitement,  "  you  may 
think  to  intimidate  me  by  standing  there  speechless  as 
you  have  so  often  done —  but  that  has  passed,  Theodore 
Bevan,  that  has  passed  —  and  I  have  shaken  you  off  — 
and  I  have  no  fears  of  you  now,  and  no  feelings  about 
you  except  the  most  withering  contempt  for  you,  and 
even  more  contempt  for  myself  for  ever  having  suffered 
myself  to  be  held  in  bondage  by  such  a  thing  as  you. 
Good  God  !  And  I've  cheated  myself  into  believing  you 
just  and  generous-minded,  and  free  from  malice  and  un- 
charitableness.  Hundreds  of  times  I  have  said  to  my- 
self :  '  He  is  not  this  or  that,  but  he  is  just.'  And  I  have 
always  admired  that  more  passionately  than  anything 
else,  and  therefore  I've  clung  to  it  in  you.  Through 
all  my  misgivings  about  you,  I've  clung  to  that  belief 
—  for  I  doubted  you  from  the  very  outset,  as  you  know, 
and  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  knew  you  were  an  evil  in- 
fluence. The  good  and  evil  in  me  has  been  incessantly 
at  strife  ever  since  I  first  saw  you — and  the  evil  con- 
quered. Oh,  you  know  what  you  have  done  to  me  — 
your  journal  tells  me  that  you  have  carried  out  what  you 
intended,  —  you  have  taken  a  human  soul  and  played 
with  it,  touched  it  with  your  poison,  watched  it  slowly 
corrode,  and  revelled  in  your  work.  What  a  mind  — 
what  a  nature  !  And  that  is  the  mind  and  the  nature 
which  has  been  mastering  me.  But  I  am  free  at 
last.  .  .  ." 

She  gave  a  great  sigh  as  though  she  were  taking  a 
long  breath.  She  stretched  her  arms  out  as  though  to 
feel  an  infinite  space.  And  still  he  stood  there,  his  head 
slightly  bowed,  and  no  single  word  passing  his  lips. 

"  A  few  weeks  more,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly,  "  and  it 
309 


The  Fowler 

would  have  been  too  late.  But  you  see,  I  have  been 
nursing  little  Madge  Carson,  and  I  have  learnt  the  whole 
truth  from  her  —  the  whole  truth  about  what  you  did  to 
revenge  yourself  on  her  for  having  warned  me  against 
you.  She  did  not  even  succeed  in  her  attempt,  yet  you 
set  yourself  to  punish  her,  in  a  very  simple  but  effectual 
way.  I  cannot  find  words  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of 
your  malicious  meanness  in  taking  hold  of  a  woman's 
good  name  and  slandering  it  deliberately  for  your  own 
purposes.  That  alone  would  pronounce  you  to  be 
beneath  even  the  consideration  of  contempt.  Bad  men 
are  bad  enough  in  all  conscience,  but  I  believe  that  the 
worst  of  them  would  pause  at  that.  .  .  .  But  you  did 
not  hesitate.  Madge  Carson  was  to  be  punished  in  the 
way  which  would  wound  her  most.  Nurse  Isabel  was  to 
be  slandered  and  deprived  of  work ;  and  the  journal  tells 
how  you  reckoned  on  her  naturally  frivolous  character 
to  aid  you  in  your  undertaking.  Brian  Uppingham  was 
to  be  punished  for  having  shaken  you  like  a  rat  —  a  rat, 
and  whilst  you  posed  to  me  as  being  magnanimous  and 
forgiving,  and  I  believed  you  —  poor  fool  I !  —  all  the 
time  you  were  devising  his  penalty.  And  when  you  hit 
upon  it,  you  laughed  in  triumph.  The  journal  says  so  : 

" c  I  laughed  in  triumph.  For  this  was  an  inspiration.' 
You  see  I  have  studied  your  journal  well.  Ah,  I  dare 
say  you  wonder  how  it  came  into  my  possession.  You 
brought  it  yourself.  You  yourself  put  it  amongst  my 
wedding-presents  with  those  other  books  — " 

He  started.  Yes,  he  remembered  now  the  mistake 
he  had  made.  He  bit  his  lips,  but  gave  no  other  sign 
of  discomfiture. 

"  And  I  thank  you  for  your  choicest  wedding-present," 
she  continued.  "  I  don't  know  why  you  brought  it,  but 
I  only  know  that  I  found  it  whilst  I  was  hardening 

310 


The  Net  is  Broken 

myself  to  speak  to  you  to-day  —  and  I  opened  it,  think- 
ing it  was  a  gift  from  you,  and  I  saw  your  writing,  and 
thought  it  was  some  personal  outpouring  which  would 
make  my  task  of  dismissing  you  heavier  —  for  you  had 
worked  on  my  feelings  and  made  me  believe  that  you 
needed  me,  that  I  was  your  very  soul's  necessity  —  and  I 
paused.  .  .  .  But  the  temptation  was  too  great,  and  I 
read.  I  know  well  enough  that  it  was  a  dishonourable 
thing  to  do,  that  I  ought  to  have  thrown  it  on  one  side, 
but  I  could  not  resist,  did  not  wish  to  resist :  for  there 
was  the  whole  story  of  my  bondage  to  you,  the  whole 
project  revealed,  and  all  the  details  of  fulfilment  com- 
mented on.  Oh,  I  have  no  regrets  and  no  shame  about 
that  yet  —  the  time  will  come,  I  suppose,  when  I  shall 
feel  ashamed.  Let  it  come.  It  will  work  in  with  all 
the  degradation  of  this  most  miserable  period  of  my  life, 
when  I  followed  the  voice  of  evil  rather  than  of  good, 
and  turned  aside  from  all  who  loved  me  and  believed  in 
me  for  you  —  an  evil  spirit.  For  make  no  mistake  about 
that,  Theodore  Bevan  :  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  have 
never  believed  you  anything  else  except  an  evil  spirit. 
You  have  rankled  in  my  soul,  as  all  evil  things  must  of 
necessity.  I  blame  myself  bitterly  that  I  did  not  cut  you 
out  at  the  very  beginning.  But  you  interested  me ;  you 
amused  me ;  you  were  so  different  from  every  one  else, 
that  I  thought  it  would  be  a  new  experience  to  have 
some  one  like  you  in  my  life  —  some  one  whom  all  other 
people  detested  —  and  so  I  played  with  you.  No  one 
could  ever  condemn  me  more  harshly  than  I  condemn 
myself.  I  despise  myself  more  even  than  I  despise  you. 
And  you  know  now  what  I  think  of  you,  therefore  you 
may  judge  what  I  think  of  myself.  But  in  spite  of  you 
and  in  spite  of  myself,  yes,  in  spite  of  this  two  years' 
misery,  I  shall  recover  my  pride,  my  independence  of 

311 


The  Fowler 

spirit,  my  liberty  of  mind,  my  joy  in  life  —  all  this  shall 
come  back  to  me,  and  in  full  measure.  I  will  fight  for 
it  as  no  one  has  ever  fought  before. 

"  And  now,  go. 

"  If  you  had  wished  to  say  anything,  you  would  have 
broken  in  upon  me  before  this.  Therefore,  go  —  " 

At  last  Theodore  Bevan  raised  his  head. 

"  The  little  good  that  was  developing  in  me,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  you  originated  in  me.  You  have  read 
the  journal.  The  journal  tells  you  that.  This  day  you 
have  yourself  uprooted  that  germ  of  good.  With  you  to 
help  me,  who  knows  what  I  might  not  have  become  ? 
As  it  is,  you  have  forsaken  me,  and  on  you  lies  the 
responsibility  of  my  soul  and  my  life." 

Then  he  went  dreamily  towards  the  door,  and  there 
he  turned. 

"I  always  told  you  that  the  day  when  you  forsook  me 
would  be  my  last  day  on  earth  .  .  .  and  I  am  a  man  of 
my  word  ...  as  the  journal  has  shown  you.  Never- 
theless, I  thank  you  for  what  you  began  to  do  in 
me  —  " 

And  he  left  her. 


312 


Part   IV 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    SELLING    OF    THE    PUNCHBOWL 

"  WELL,  I  never !  "  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  putting  down 
her  bread-tins,  which  she  had  just  been  buttering.  "  A 
letter  for  me,  and  from  one  of  them  foreign  outlandish 
places  !  I  never  did  hold  with  people  going  and  hiding 
theirselves  in  them  distant  spots.  All  the  folk  as  I  ever 
knew  doing  that  came  to  no  good  —  and  small  wonder 
too  !  Not  that  I  did  know  any  one  as  went  and  did  it, 
—  except  my  poor  husband  —  bless  him  !  But  he  were 
quite  enough  to  convince  me  —  poor  soul !  He  wrote  to 
me  from  across  the  seas,  and  I  do  declare  this  letter, 
coming  as  it  were  from  nowhere,  puts  me  in  a  sort  of 
tremble.  Ah,  deary  me  !  That  was  a  beautiful  letter 
he  sent  me  some  fourteen  years  agone  —  and  he  signed  it 
*  Ever  your  miserable  Jim  without  you.' ': 

"  He  seemed  to  prosper  uncommon  well  without  you," 
snarled  Great-great-aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson. 

"  That  were  his  way,  poor  creature  ! "  said  Mrs  Mary. 
"  People  can't  be  broke  of  their  ways."  And  she  added, 
in  an  undertone,  "  No  one  has  ever  broke  you  of  your 
tongue.  There  you've  got  it  safe  and  sound  at  ninety- 
six  year  old." 

"  And  she'll  have  it  for  another  ninety-six  year,"  said 
Mr  Parrington,  who  had  just  then  come  into  the  kitchen. 
"  What's  this  I  hear  about  a  letter  from  foreign  parts  ?  " 

"  Now  look  here,  Mr  William  Parrington,"  said  Mrs 


The  Fowler 

Mary,  severely,  "  I  can't  have  you  a-poking  and  a-prying 
into  my  private  correspondence.  Letters  is  secret  pro- 
perty, and  I'll  trouble  you  to  mind  your  own  business." 

"  That's  just  what  I've  come  to  do,"  returned  Parring- 
ton,  amiably.  "  I've  come  to  sit  in  my  favourite  arm- 
chair and  mind  the  business." 

"Oh,  really,"  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw.  "Much  obliged, 
I'm  sure  !  But  you're  forgetting  yourself,  Parrington. 
It  ain't  your  business.  It  is  my  business." 

"  As  you  like,  my  dear,"  he  replied.  "  I'll  sit  here  and 
look  after  our  business." 

"  Our  business  !  "  she  cried.  "  Was  there  ever  such  a 
man  ?  Well,  since  you  are  here,  you  may  serve  out  the 
beer,  and  give  liberal  measure  to  every  one  except  Tim- 
othy Evans,  who  can't  stand  the  tiniest  extra  drop.  For 
I've  got  a  letter  from  dear  Miss  Nora;  and  the  King's 
Head  is  proud  to  be  a  little  generous  on  joyful  occasions. 
Of  course,  at  the  Punchbowl  it  be  different  altogether : 
people  do  say  trade  is  awful  bad  there.  There's  no 
denying  it  be  a  trim  little  building,  but  folk  don't  as 
a  rule  call  in  to  drink  the  building.  It's  the  beer 
they're  after !  " 

She  then  fled  into  the  parlor  and  read  her  letter 
from  Nora.  Nora  wrote  from  some  place  in  Lower 
California.  This  was  part  of  the  letter : 

"  I  dare  say  father  told  you  that  Mrs  Ellerton  invited 
me  to  come  out  and  join  her  here  — you  remember  Mrs 
Ellerton  —  ? " 

"  Ay,  that  I  do,  dear  Miss  Nora,"  put  in  Mrs  Shaw, 
as  comment. 

"  I  was  very  glad  to  come,  for  I  was  wanting  a 
change,  and  you  would  be  amused  to  see  how  busy  I 
always  am.  Out  in  this  life,  one  has  to  do  most  of  the 
housework  oneself,  and  I  have  not  had  much  time  to  feel 

3*4 


The  Selling  of  the  Punchbowl 

even  homesick.  Now  I  can  understand  why  poor 
people  who  are  always  overworked  are  much  more  cheer- 
ful than  leisured  individuals  who  do  not  have  to  put  their 
hands  to  uncongenial  tasks.  And  I  think  of  you  —  how 
cheerful  and  bright  you  always  are " 

"  Ah,  but  my  dear  Miss  Nora,  I  have  my  bad  times 
under  the  apron,  you  know/'  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw, 
shaking  her  head  sadly.  "  And  as  for  being  cheerful, 
that's  what  you  might  call  natural-like.  There  aren't  no 
virtue  in  being  light-hearted  when  you  weren't  born 
heavy-hearted  !  Now,  when  Aunt  Rebeccah  Renaldson 
behave  herself,  I  call  that  wonderful  virtuous;  for  she 
wasn't  born  pleasant  —  poor  creature  !  " 

"  Already  I  feel  better  than  I  have  been  for  months," 
the  letter  continued.  "  And  sometimes  I  can't  help 
laughing  heartily  over  our  misadventures  and  experi- 
ences. A  week  ago  I  nearly  sat  down  on  a  rattlesnake. 
Think  of  that,  Mrs  Mary  !  The  other  day  when  I  was 
in  the  dumps,  and  was  moping  on  the  verandah,  Mrs 
Ellerton  came  to  say  that  the  larder  was  invaded  by  red 
ants.  Another  time  when  I  was  feeling  horribly  de- 
pressed, Mr  Ellerton  rushed  in  to  say  that  all  the  horses 
had  got  loose,  and  were  tearing  over  the  ranch,  and 
trampling  down  the  trees.  Another  time,  the  reservoir 
burst.  And  so  on.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  about  my  life 
out  here  when  I  return.  If  you  have  not  already  married 
Mr  Parrington,  I  still  hope  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony, 
for  I  shall  be  at  home  in  a  few  months  now.  I  trust  you 
are  being  kind  to  poor  Parrington,  and  not  overtaxing  his 
patience.  I  so  often  think  of  the  happy  times  I  have 
spent  at  Graystoke,  and  of  all  the  fun  we  have  had  over 
Mr  Parrington." 

"  Ay,  that  we  have  !  "  said  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  smiling. 
"  And  as  for  marrying  him,  dear  Miss  Nora,  I  shouldn't 

3*5 


The  Fowler 

think  of  doing  such  a  thing  until  you  return.  And  I'll 
go  and  tell  him  now  —  the  tiresome  man  !  " 

So  she  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  found  Parrington 
installed  there. 

"  You  seem  to  be  making  yourself  pretty  much  at 
home,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  just  getting  my  hand  in,  my  dear,"  said  Parring- 
ton, benignly.  "  Lots  of  things  want  seeing  to  in  this 
shanty.  When  I  come  and  live  here,  things  will  be  very 
different." 

"  When  you  come  and  live  here"  repeated  Mrs  Mary 
Shaw,  slowly. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  we've  got  to  live  somewhere,  I  sup- 
pose," said  Parrington.  "  And  I've  understood  you  to 
say  wild  horses  wouldn't  drag  you  to  the  poor  little 
Punchbowl." 

"  And  you  said  nothing  on  earth  would  make  you  live 
in  the  King's  Head,"  replied  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  toying 
with  the  flour-scoop. 

"Did  I,  Mrs  Mary?  Well,  I've  changed  my  mind. 
Some  one  has  got  to  give  in.  And  with  alterations,  I 
begin  to  think  —  " 

"  No,  no,  there  mustn't  be  no  alterations !  "  put  in 
Mrs  Mary. 

"  All  right,  my  dear,  there  shan't  be  no  alterations," 
said  Parrington. 

But  Mrs  Mary,  nothing  mollified,  continued  sternly  : 

"  I  can't  have  you  coming  and  living  at  the  King's 
Head  if  you  —  " 

"  If,"  repeated  Parrington.  "  There  ain't  no  l  if '  about 
it.  If  I  don't  come  to  you,  where  do  I  go  ?  What's  to 
become  of  me  ?  Pve  sold  the  Punchbowl.  I  must  live 
somewhere,"  he  added,  plaintively.  "  And  very  soon 
poor  Parrington  won't  have  no  home  —  at  his  time  of 

316 


The  Selling  of  the  Punchbowl 

life    too  —  fifty    year    old    and    bald  —  and    no    home ! 
Think  of  it !  " 

"  Sold  the  Punchbowl !  "  cried  Mrs  Shaw,  delightedly, 
and  she  gave  Mr  Parrington  a  hearty  kiss  on  his  cheek. 

"  There,  Parrington,"  she  cried.  "  That's  for  you. 
And  I  don't  care  as  who  sees  it." 

"  Ah,  she  be  aging  wonderful  quick,"  muttered  Aunt 
Rebeccah  Renaldson.  "  I  notice  a  deal  of  difference  in 
Mrs  Mary  Shaw  these  last  four  year." 

"  Never  you  mind  what  the  old  cuss  says,"  returned 
Parrington,  in  a  comforting  tone  of  voice.  "  Perhaps 
the  time  will  come  when  she'll  be  aging  wonderful 
quick." 

"  No,  Parrington,"  said  Mrs  Mary,  suddenly  taking 
up  the  cudgels  for  her  ancestors.  "  That  time  will 
never  come.  Don't  you  be  a-reckoning  on  that.  The 
ancestors  will  always  be  here  as  long  as  you  and  me.  It 
may  be  fifty  year,  and  it  may  be  a  hundred.  And  if 
you  come  and  marry  me  and  live  in  my  King's  Head, 
you'll  have  to  put  up  with  my  great-great-aunt,  and  my 
great-uncle,  and  my  father,  and  my  son  —  all  my  ances- 
tors as  ever  was.  So  there !  " 

"  Wullie  ain't  your  ancestor,"  said  Parrington,  grin- 
ning. "  And  that  reminds  me,  my  dear,  we  must  give 
Wullie  a  good  chance,  and  'prentice  him  to  that  archi- 
tect-fellow in  Langton." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  Parrington,  you're  not  coming  here 
to  turn  things  topsy-turvy,  and  send  my  poor  Wullie  out 
into  the  cruel  world,"  said  Mrs  Mary  a  little  tearfully. 

Parrington  smiled  at  his  wayward  sweetheart. 

"  And  oh,  Parrington,"  she  said,  still  more  tearfully, 
"you  won't  be  unkind  to  them  poor  old  ancestors  of 
mine,  poor,  dear  creatures,  innocent,  patient  old  things 
as  never  harmed  no  one.  They've  always  done  what 


The  Fowler 

they  wanted  —  bless  them  !  —  and  nobody  shan't  inter- 
fere with  them  now.  Promise  me,  Parrington,  you 
won't  be  unkind  to  them.  Oh,  I  be  terrible  frightened, 
and  I  wish  I  was  dead.  I  do  indeed.  How  I  do  wish 
you  hadn't  sold  the  Punchbowl  —  such  a  nice  little  place 
too,  and  just  the  very  spot  for  you." 

"  Ah,  it  be  too  late  now,"  said  Parrington,  lighting  his 
pipe.  "  What's  done  can't  be  undone." 

"I  suppose  it  can't,"  replied  Mrs  Mary.  "I  wish  it 
could.  Oh,  dear,  to  think  of  a  strange  man  living  in 
my  King's  Head  !  " 

u  And  you  won't  be  a-changing  the  whisky  and 
bottled-ale  brand,  will  you  ?  "  she  added,  after  a  pause. 
" 1  know  you  will  —  but  promise  !  " 

"  I  promise,"  said  Parrington,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye. 

"And  you'll  promise  not  to  marry  me  till  dear  Miss 
Nora  comes  ?  "  said  Mrs  Mary. 

u 1  promise,"  said  Parrington. 

"  And  I  think  that's  about  all,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  promising  going  on  here," 
said  David  the  blacksmith,  who  had  just  come  into  the 
bar.  "  A  glass  of  bitters,  please,  Mrs  Shaw." 

"  Ah,"  said  Parrington,  "  'tis  a  very  peaceful  occupa- 
tion to  sit  in  an  easy-chair  and  smoke  your  pipe  and 
promise  !  " 

"  Don't  take  no  notice  of  what  he  says,  Mrs  Mary," 
said  David.  "You'll  be  able  to  hold  your  own  with  the 
likes  of  Parrington  any  day.  Ah,  Parrington  be  a  lucky 
fellow  !  And  here  be  I,  as  know'd  you  since  we  could 
toddle  together,  broken-hearted  and  miserable,  and  going 
quickly  into  the  consumptions." 

"  Get  along  !  "  laughed  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  looking  at 
David's  strong  frame.  "  Oh,  I  must  tell  you,  Davy, 


The  Selling  of  the  Punchbowl 

I've  a  letter  from  dear  Miss  Nora  in  foreign  parts. 
And  a  queer  sort  of  place  she's  got  to.  Red  ants  and 
rattly-snakes  in  the  larder !  Did  you  ever  hear  the 
like  ?  Now,  if  she'd  said  blackbeetles,  I  could  under- 
stand. And  she  says  she  feel  a  deal  better  for  the 
change.  She  don't  speak  of  the  little  viper  gentleman, 
and  it's  to  be  hoped  she's  forgot  all  about  him.  Poor 
dear  girl !  Red  ants  and  rattly-snakes  !  However,  they 
seem  to  do  her  good.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how,  for 
beetles  never  do  me  no  good.  But  lor' !  it  don'  tmatter 
how  folk  get  better,  so  long  as  they  do  get  better.  And 
we've  all  got  our  own  ways,  and  can't  be  broke  of  'em. 
That's  what  I  be  always  saying." 

"  Has  it  ever  struck  you,  my  dear,"  said  Parrington, 
"  that  I  too  have  got  my  own  ways  and  can't  be  broke 
of  'em  ?  " 

Mrs  Mary  Shaw  stood  still  one  moment,  and  then 
said  : 

"  Oh,  Parrington,  why  did  you  go  and  sell  that  sweet 
little  Punchbowl  ?  It  were  the  very  place  for  an  elderly 
gentleman  to  live  quietly  all  by  hisself !  " 


3T9 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   II 

A    LETTER    FROM    HOME 

"  MY  BELOVED  NORA,  —  It  is  now  three  months  since 
you  left  us,  and  although  I  miss  you  sorely,  my  own 
dear  girl,  I  never  cease  to  rejoice  that  we  were  all  sen- 
sible enough  to  recognise  that  nothing  except  emotional 
change  of  a  most  thorough  kind  would  ever  set  you  on 
your  legs  again,  and  at  the  same  time  screw  your  dear 
head  firmly  on  your  shoulders  once  more.  Emotional 
change  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  only  sensible  pre- 
scription invented  by  erring  physician.  I  remember 
years  ago,  long  before  you  were  born,  going  to  a  doctor 
with  a  long  list  of  ailments,  and  expecting,  of  course,  a 
long  list  of  medicines.  He  took  his  prescription-book, 
and  then  glanced  at  me  very  kindly. 

" c  I  could  not  afford  to  give  this  prescription  to  every 
one,'  he  said,  in  a  reluctant  sort  of  way,  l  but  I  will  give 
it  to  you.' 

"  Then  he  wrote  it,  and  put  it  in  an  envelope.  When 
I  looked  at  it,  all  I  saw  were  the  words,  l  Emotional 
change  —  to  be  taken  at  once,  and  kept  on  continuously 
for  several  months.'  And  he  was  right. 

"  You  see,  Nora,  my  girl,  if  you  had  stayed  at  home, 
you  would,  after  the  first  excitement  and  effort  of  giving 
Mr  Bevan  up,  have  relapsed  into  depression,  and  tortured 
yourself  into  a  fever  about  your  responsibility  over  his 
death.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  has  committed  suicide. 
I  believe  that  he  is  very  much  alive  somewhere,  and 
that  with  his  characteristic  quiet  cunning  he  arranged 

320 


A  Letter  from  Home 

that  report,  in  order  to  make  all  of  us  miserable  —  es- 
pecially yourself,  of  course — and  leave  us  in  the  wrong. 
We  shall  see :  and  meanwhile,  I  am  glad  to  think  that 
even  with  this  burden  on  your  mind,  and  in  spite  of  the 
sadness  and  mistakes  of  these  last  three  years,  you  are 
beginning  to  take  up  your  life  again,  and  find  it  full  of 
interest  and  promise.  You  could  not  do  otherwise.  At 
twenty-seven  you  have  the  world  before  you  and  every- 
thing on  your  side :  love,  friendship,  abilities,  and  good 
health.  But,  as  old  Spenser  says,  '  It  is  the  mynd  that 
maketh  good  or  ill.'  And  I  see,  with  tears  of  gratitude 
in  my  eyes,  that  your  dear  spirit  is  healing  itself. 
Yesterday  I  dipped  into  Clough's  poems,  and  when 
I  read  these  words,  I  thought  of  you : 

"  *  With  silent  woods  and  hills  untenanted 

Let  me  go  commune  ,•  under  thy  sweet  gloom, 
Oh,  kind  maternal  Darkness,  hide  my  head. 
The  day  may  come  I  yet  may  reassume 
My  place,  and  these  tired  limbs  recruited,  seek 
The  task  for  which  I  now  am  all  too  weak.' 

I  wrote  in  pencil  in  the  corner,  '  My  Nora.' 

"  To  my  mind  nothing  could  have  been  more  op- 
portune than  Mrs  Ellerton's  suggestion  that  you  should 
go  out  and  join  her  in  her  rough  new  life.  Your  ac- 
counts of  your  everyday  life  amuse  me  immensely.  I 
would  give  anything  to  see  both  you  modern  young 
women,  followers  of  Ibsen  and  Maeterlinck  and  other 
mysterious  prophets,  doing  battle  with  rattlesnakes, 
tarantula  spiders,  Chinamen,  and  red  ants.  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  a  sort  of  foreign  mission  should 
at  once  be  started  in  aid  of  modern  young  women  of 
hyper-morbid  tendencies.  They  would  all  come  back 
in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits,  having  quite  forgotten 
how  to  be  unnecessarily  miserable.  Ah  well !  I  have 
21  321 


The  Fowler 

no  intention  of  criticising  the  ladies  only,  for  I  notice 
numberless  modern  young  gentlemen  of  ability  who 
would  soon  give  up  being  decadent  if  they  only  were 
obliged,  even  for  a  short  time,  to  become  '  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water.'  They  too  require  a 
mission  to  be  started  on  their  behalf.  As  for  myself, 
I  am  too  old  to  profit  by  any  mission,  however  admir- 
able. That's  the  advantage  of  being  old,  you  see  j  we 
are  left  in  peace  to  work  out  our  lifelong  mistakes. 
And  one  of  my  many  mistakes  was  the  way  I  behaved 
over  the  Bevan  affair.  If  I  could  have  been  different, 
you  would  have  been  different,  my  poor  child.  No,  no, 
you  must  not  make  yourself  miserable  by  heaping  re- 
proaches on  yourself.  It  was  a  difficult  time  for  both 
of  us,  and  we  have  come  out  of  it  somehow  —  with  all 
the  old  affection,  and  some  added.  And  who  can  say 
more  than  that  ?  Life  is  full  of  intricate  problems, 
and  I  have  always  thought  it  hard  on  youngsters  that 
they  are  called  upon  to  decide  important  questions  for 
themselves  when  they  have  no  knowledge  of  life,  no 
sense  of  the  true  proportion  of  things,  and  of  course 
no  forethought.  So  they  generally  blunder,  as  we  old 
people  have  done  before  them,  and  they  have  to  spend 
the  rest  of  their  lives  in  suffering  for  their  mistakes. 
More  misery  is  brought  about  by  want  of  judgment  than 
by  deliberate  sin.  And  I  think  that  when  all  our  cases 
are  tried  in  the  Great  Court  —  if  they  ever  are  tried  — 
there  will  be  some  one  to  plead  for  us  who  will  say  — 
if  we  really  erred  from  want  of  judgment :  4  Alas  !  they 
did  not  know,  and  there  was  no  one  at  the  time  who  could 
have  made  them  understand' 

"  So  cheer  up,  my  beloved  and  foolish  child ;  and 
do  not  make  yourself  unhappy  about  your  ancient 
father.  People  who  love  each  other,  do  not  have  to 

322 


A  Letter  From  Home 

forgive  each  other.  And  all  my  grief  was  healed  when 
I  heard  you  say,  —  after  many  months  of  silence  on  the 
subject  — l  My  old  sweetheart  of  a  father.'  Then  I 
knew  that  my  wayward  vessel  was  coming  into  harbour, 
laden  as  ever  with  her  golden  grain.  I  do  not  grudge 
you  your  remorse  and  regret.  It  is  only  right  that  you 
should  have  them.  Even  the  most  hardened  amongst  us 
have  them.  I  sometimes  think  they  are  the  last  linger- 
ing bit  of  divinity  in  us  —  left  from  the  wreck.  I  have 
moralised  a  good  deal,  haven't  I  ?  But  do  not  be  alarmed 
about  me.  I  am  not  ill,  and  I  am  not  going  to  become 
a  parson  !  I  am  awfully  busy  with  my  Sanskrit  and  my 
bicycle.  I  have  had  several  falls,  thank  you,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  spraining  most  of  my  legs  and  arms  !  I  enjoy 
myself  deeply.  I  shall  be  an  expert  by  the  time  you 
come  home.  We  will  then  make  an  expedition  to 
Gracechurch  and  dine  at  the  Three  Sadlers ;  stewed 
steak  and  onions,  Welsh  rarebit,  and  a  good  cigar ! 

"Uppingham  is  well  and  busy.  You  know  he  in- 
sisted on  my  living  with  him,  and  at  first  I  gave  in. 
But  I  prefer  being  in  mine  own  inn.  However,  we  are 
nearly  always  together,  and  he  is  very  good  to  me.  You 
know  what  he  feels  about  you.  But  I  am  under  strict 
orders  not  to  mention  his  name  to  you,  and  so  I  dare 
not  say  more.  Nevertheless  he  waits. 

"  Don't  hurry  home,  my  Nora.  Stick  to  the  rattle- 
snakes until  you  have  got  rid  of  the  other  poison.  I 
have  obeyed  your  commands,  and  looked  after  Miss 
Madge  Carson.  She  is  much  better,  and  the  doctors 
seem  to  think  that  no  operation  will  be  necessary  for 
her  eyes.  Her  master-bookbinder  has  sought  her  out 
again,  and  renewed  his  addresses.  But  she  will  have 
nothing  to  say  to  him.  And  I  don't  wonder.  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw  refuses  to  marry  Parrington  until  you  return. 

323 


The  Fowler 

Nurse  Isabel  has  been  to  see  me  several  times.  She  is 
in  capital  form,  and  half  thinks  of  accepting  an  offer 
of  marriage  from  her  present  patient,  a  captain  in  the 
Merchant  Service.  c  However,'  she  said  in  her  quaint 
way,  c  he  may  think  better  of  it  when  he  is  quite  strong 
.again.  Man-like,  he  was  terribly  afraid  that  he  was 
going  to  die,  and  intensely  grateful  to  me  when  he  did 
not !  ' 

"  How  strange !  And  that  same  man  would  have 
gone  down  with  his  vessel  without  so  much  as  a  murmur. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  God  bless  you.  ROGER." 


324 


Renewal 
CHAPTER   III 

RENEWAL 

"  MY  DARLING  OLD  FATHER, — Your  letters  cheer  and 
touch  me  beyond  words.  I  know  well  how  your  gener- 
ous heart  forgives  me.  But  I  don't  forgive  myself.  And 
so  often  I  think  of  how  you  used  to  tell  me  when  I  was 
a  little  girl,  that  the  very  last  person  on  earth  that  one 
should  forgive  was  one's  own  self.  But  I  feel  wonderfully 
better  already,  and  this  life  has  done  marvels  for  me. 
Mrs  Ellerton  gives  me  plenty  to  do,  partly  on  principle, 
she  says,  and  partly  because  I  can  do  it  so  much  more 
easily  than  she  can.  She  is  really  very  frail.  Mr  Eller- 
ton already  regrets  having  come  out  here,  and  I  suppose 
the  end  of  it  will  be  that  we  shall  all  return  home  together. 
But  I  am  awfully  glad  I  came  here,  instead  of  eating  my 
heart  away  doing  nothing  in  a  hotel  on  the  Continent. 
Mrs  Ellerton  is  very  humorous  about  her  husband's 
attempts  at  manual  labour. 

" l  Why,  my  dear  girl,'  she  says,  c  he  could  not  have 
summoned  up  the  strength  to  transplant  a  geranium  in 
England.  And  now  to  see  him  digging  up  eucalyptus 
trees  nearly  makes  me  hysterical ! ' 

"  It  is  lucky  for  Mr  Ellerton  that  he  has  the  money  to 
throw  away  over  fads.  Many  people  come  out  to  these 
regions,  and  lose  all  their  money  and  all  their  courage. 
And  then  there  is  the  home-sickness  when  one  knows 
that  one  has  burnt  one's  boats.  I  think  that  must  be 
something  terrible.  Mrs  Ellerton  says  that  this  present 
departure  is  not  any  more  expensive  than  patent  medi- 
cines purchased  on  the  Continent ;  and  her  spirits  rise 

325 


The  Fowler 

in  proportion  as  the  discomforts  of  the  life  make  them- 
selves more  apparent,  for  she  knows  the  experiment  is 
approaching  its  inevitable  fulfilment  of  failure.  We  have 
great  fun  over  it  all,  and  as  c  Chinaman  after  Chinaman 
departs  —  who  hath  not  lost  a  Chinaman?'  —  we  turn 
to,  and  do  the  cooking  to  the  best  of  our  abilities  and 
much  to  Mr  Ellerton's  disgust.  You  see  he  deliberately 
singled  out  for  his  abode  the  most  solitary  habitation 
even  in  this  remote  part  of  the  world ;  and  after  a  few 
days'  sojourn  with  us,  the  Chinese  servants  all  discover 
that  they  have  dying  relatives  in  China,  and  that  they 
must  repair  to  their  native  country  at  once.  So  they  go, 
and  we  are  left  lamenting.  Mr  Ellerton  had  an  idea 
that  if  he  could  get  right  away  from  all  human  beings 
and  distractions,  that  he  would  be  able  to  put  his  spirit 
in  harmony  with  that  of  the  universe  —  whatever  that 
means.  We  know  not  whether  this  mysterious  process 
is  really  taking  place.  If  it  is,  I  may  add  that  the  out- 
ward and  visible  signs  of  it  are  extreme  irritation  over 
our  bad  cooking,  a  good  deal  of  grumbling  over  his  many 
discomforts,  and  regrets  of  and  longings  for  all  the  joys 
and  advantages  of  Europe.  But  we  have  a  fair  amount 
of  fun  too,  and  I  thoroughly  enjoy  the  riding  and  driv- 
ing. It  is  becoming  very  hot  now,  and  we  take  our 
mattresses  into  the  garden,  and  sleep  out  of  doors.  At 
first  I  did  not  sleep,  and  was  content  to  lie  hour  after 
hour  watching  the  stars,  and  thinking.  You  tell  me  not 
to  fret,  dear  old  father,  but  I  am  very  downhearted 
sometimes.  I  think  I  should  feel  quite  different  if  I 
could  know  that  Theodore  Bevan  had  not  killed  himself. 
You  have  not  any  idea  how  my  unalterable  belief  in  his 
suicide  weighs  me  down.  He  has  left  me,  as  I  always 
felt  he  left  me,  completely  in  the  wrong.  Sometimes  I 
dream  that  this  great  load  is  lifted  from  my  mind,  and 

326 


Renewal 

then  all  sorts  of  beautiful  possibilities  float  in  upon  my 
consciousness ;  and,  worked  upon,  no  doubt,  by  the 
sweet  soft  night-air  falling  so  graciously  on  me,  I  dream 
of  joyous  rides  over  the  far-stretching  plains,  with  no 
thoughts  except  a  delight  in  life  and  nature,  and  the 
gratitude  of  being  free  —  free  to  ride  on  and  on  into 
the  great  distances,  unhampered  by  any  hauntings  of 
the  mind  or  any  weakness  of  the  body.  Then  I  awake, 
and  remember  Theodore  Bevan,  and  his  last  words  to  me  : 
1  Nevertheless  I  thank  you  for  what  you  began  to  do  in  me.' 
When  I  am  in  that  mood,  the  stars  look  down  on  me 
coldly,  critically,  and  a  chilliness  creeps  into  my  heart. 
But  it  is  not  always  so,  dear  old  father- friend.  Some- 
times the  stars  and  the  quietness  of  the  night  bring  to 
me  ineffable  peace,  and  a  sense  of  newly-acquired  and 
restful  strength,  and  then  those  words  of  William 
Watson  come  into  my  mind  : 

"  '  I  too  have  come  through  wint'ry  terrors  and  cataclysm  of  soul, 
Have  come  and  am  delivered.       Me,  the  Spring, 
Me  also,  dimly  with  new  life  hath  touched, 
And  with  regenerate  hope,  the  salt  of  life ; 
And  I  would  dedicate  these  thankful  tears 
To  whatsoever  Power  beneficent, 

Veil'd  though  his  countenance,  undivulg'd  his  thought, 
Hath  led  me  from  the  haunted  darkness  forth 
Into  the  gracious  air  and  vernal  morn  ' 

11  So  you  see,  dear,  you  must  think  of  me  as  renew- 
ing myself,  and  all  the  time,  in  spite  of  inevitable  back- 
slidings,  working  myself  back  to  a  healthy  happiness  and 
participation  in  life,  and  a  gratitude,  beyond  words,  for 
all  your  love  and  tender  forgiveness.  There  never  was 
such  a  father  as  yourself;  nor  such  a  lovable,  gentle- 
hearted,  and  original  parent.  So  often,  so  often  I  think 
of  your  dear  quaint  ways  and  sayings  ;  and  the  tears 

327 


The  Fowler 

come  into  my  eyes.  So  often  I  think  of  the  beautiful 
unworldliness  of  your  spirit.  I  would  have  given  any- 
thing to  know  you  as  a  young  headlong  man,  though 
I  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  not  always  been  a 
headlong  father.  I  don't  want  to  take  that  away  from 
you,  dear.  So  often  I  think,  too,  of  all  the  fun  we've 
had  together,  and  I  laugh  aloud.  I  am  sure  that  if  I 
were  to  lose  you  even,  I  should  always  be  able  to  laugh 
over  the  fun  —  for  it  has  been  part  of  our  lives  together, 
hasn't  it  ?  And  I  think,  too,  of  all  I  have  learnt  from 
you.  I  have  learnt  everything  I  know  from  you.  You 
have  interpreted  everything  for  me :  nature,  books, 
music,  art,  philosophy,  and  God  in  them  all.  I  remem- 
ber so  distinctly  one  of  the  first  stories  you  told  me 
when  I  was  quite  a  wee  child  :  it  was  about  a  little  old 
man  who  had  been  withered  up  ever  since  any  one 
could  remember,  and  all  because  he  had  lost  a  great 
treasure  which  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  find  again 
at  once  and  without  delay.  And  then  it  became  too 
late.  And  he  began  to  shrivel  away  into  nothing.  And 
you  told  me  the  name  of  the  treasure  :  it  was  joy  in  all 
God's  beautiful  gifts.  I  don't  think  I  ever  forgot  that 
until  Theodore  Bevan  came  into  my  life.  Then  I  for- 
got it.  But  now  I  remember  it  again.  And  I  have 
gone  in  search  of  the  treasure. 

"  I  know  you  do  not  believe  that  he  has  taken  his 
life.  But  I  think  you  don't  quite  understand  that,  in 
his  way,  he  was  attached  to  me,  and  was  learning  to 
love  me.  You  see  I  read  that  in  his  journal.  There 
could  be  no  mistake  about  that.  You  ask  me  whether 
I  fret  for  him,  and  I  can  honestly  say  that  I  do  not 
now.  At  first  I  missed  him  terribly.  But  my  wounded 
pride  has  helped  me  a  great  deal.  Oh,  it  is  such  a 
relief  to  be  able  to  speak  freely  to  you  about  it  all  !  We 

328 


Renewal 

must  never,  never  have  any  more  barriers.  And  now 
I  want  to  say  something  about  Brian  Uppingham.  I 
think  of  him  too;  but  I  feel  too  ashamed  to  send  him 
even  a  message  of  greeting.  I  don't  even  know  how  I 
shall  be  able  to  face  him  when  I  return  home.  I  know 
he  loves  me,  of  course.  If  things  had  gone  differently 
with  me,  I  was  ready  to  love  him  and  be  loved  by 
him.  He  is  a  man  after  my  own  heart.  But  he  came 
into  my  life  at  the  wrong  time  for  me :  he  should 
have  come  earlier,  father  dear  —  or  later;  then  I  should 
not  have  treated  him  so  unkindly — so  shamefully.  If 
he  had  come  later,  there  would  have  been  one  thing 
less  for  me  to  regret  in  this  miserable  record  of  the 
last  three  years ;  and  if  he  had  come  earlier,  there 
would  have  been  a  different  record  for  us  all.  And 
I  should  not  have  wounded  my  old  father. 

"  I  am  writing  this  on  what  we  call  the  l  honeysuckle 
verandah.'  It  is  the  hour  of  sunset,  and  the  colours  in 
the  sky  are  unbelievably  gorgeous, — that  royal  violet 
tint,  and  fiercest  red,  and  glowing  yellow.  And  now 
the  barren  mountains  have  put  on  their  heliotrope  gar- 
ments, and  seem  to  have  suddenly  become  covered  with 
pale  purple  heather.  That  makes  one  think  of  the 
dear  old  country.  How  I  shall  love  to  walk  over  the 
heather  again !  But  I  am  not  coming  home  until  I 
have  c  found  myself.'  When  you  see  me,  you  will 
know  that  I  have  come  home  because  all  was  well 
with  me,  and  because  I  felt  able  to  take  up  my  old 
life  again  and  make  something  better  of  it  for  you  and 
me — and  all  of  us.  Your  own  NORA." 


329 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   IV 

GOOD    NEWS 

IT  was  now  nearly  ten  months  since  Nora  accepted  Mrs 
Ellerton's  invitation,  and  went  out  to  Lower  California, 
where  Mr  Ellerton  had  bought  a  vast  and  desolate  ter- 
ritory, which  he,  later  on,  abandoned  with  feelings  of 
thankful  relief. 

In  her  absence,  every  one  had  wanted  to  take  care  of 
Mr  Penhurst ;  and,  between  them  all,  it  seemed  prob- 
able that  he  would  not  have  a  moment's  peace.  At  first 
he  lived  with  Brian,  but  after  a  time  he  drifted  back  to 
his  own  home.  He  was  not  unhappy,  but  he  was  often 
very  restless;  and  once  it  seemed  as  though  he  were 
going  to  have  some  kind  of  brain  attack,  for  he  harped 
so  continuously  on  Theodore  Bevan's  supposed  suicide. 

"  Little  damned  centipede,"  he  would  say,  putting 
down  his  Sanskrit  book.  "  It  was  just  like  him  to  go 
away,  and  leave  my  poor  girl  in  the  wrong." 

"  Don't  always  be  thinking  of  him,"  Brian  would 
answer.  "  He  has  passed  out  of  our  lives." 

"  But  not  out  of  our  minds,"  answered  the  old  man. 
"  He  will  never  pass  out  of  our  minds  until  we  know 
for  certain  that  he  did  not  commit  suicide.  I  would 
give  up  anything  to  know  that.  Yes,  I  would  give  up 
the  joy  of  seeing  my  dear  girl  again,  restored,  as  I  feel 
sure  she  will  be,  to  her  own  bright  self." 

Nurse  Isabel  came  in  one  day  and  found  him  in  one 
of  these  moods. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  she  said,  soothingly,  "  if  you  go  on 

33° 


Good  News 

like  this  much  longer  you  will  drive  yourself  mad,  and 
then  you  will  not  be  able  to  learn  any  more  of  that 
absurd  Sanskrit.  And  you  will  also  drive  Mr  Upping- 
ham  mad.  He  looks  quite  harassed,  and  as  though  he 
had  not  anything  in  the  world  to  rely  on,  excepting  his 
career,  poor  man  !  And  he  is  not  one  of  those  self- 
contained  people  who  can  be  satisfied  with  a  career  only. 
I  think  you  are  a  nasty,  selfish,  ungrateful,  unreasonable, 
and  wicked  monster.  And  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  What 
is  the  use  of  reading  all  those  stupid  philosophers  —  look 
at  them  in  the  bookcase  —  if  you  cannot  even  practise  a 
little  amateur  philosophy  ?  Most  people  of  average  in- 
telligence, when  they  have  studied  a  subject  for  years 
and  years,  begin  to  have  a  vague  idea  of  it,  if  nothing 
more.  But  you  —  oh,  I'm  ashamed  of  you  !  Why," 
she  added,  smiling,  "I  am  more  of  a  philosopher  than 
you  !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  chiding  me.  I  deserve  it," 
he  said,  gently. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  "  the  poor  historian  cannot  go 
on  living  perpetually  on  Bevan,  Bevan,  Bevan.  He  is 
becoming  depressed,  and  I  assure  you,  from  my  own 
personal  experiences,  that  his  depression  is  something 
quite  unique.  It  will  be  infinitely  worse  than  our  dis- 
comfort caused  by  Theodore  Bevan's  supposed  suicide. 
Take  my  advice,  and  do  anything  on  earth  to  prevent 
Mr  Uppingham  from  having  an  attack  of  despondency  !  " 

Roger  roused  himself  from  his  gloominess,  and,  with 
that  simple-heartedness  so  characteristic  of  him,  asked 
forgiveness  of  Brian. 

"  I've  been  a  selfish  old  fellow,"  he  said.  "  But  Nurse 
Isabel  has  made  me  see  the  error  of  my  ways,  and  now 
I  am  going  to  reform." 

331 


The  Fowler 

Brian  was  delighted  with  the  sudden  alteration,  for 
he  himself,  in  spite  of  all  his  quiet  patience  and  persist- 
ence, was  beginning  to  feel  overborne.  His  work  had 
been  a  strain  on  him  for  some  time  past ;  and  of  course 
he  had  been  greatly  wounded  by  the  knowledge  that 
Bevan  had  been  trying  to  injure  him  in  Nora's  sight. 
Her  treatment  of  him,  her  engagement  to  Theodore 
Bevan,  her  sadness  and  misery,  and  her  final  struggle 
for  freedom,  and  now  the  consciousness  of  this  great 
burden  on  her  mind,  had  told  on  Brian.  He  had  never 
once  wavered  in  his  firm  belief  that  she  was  his.  But  he 
felt  more  and  more  the  difficulty  of  reaching  her.  Scores 
of  times  he  began  letters  to  her,  but  he  never  sent  any, 
—  and  he  never  sent  messages.  He  did  not  neglect  his 
work,  nor  his  self-imposed  duty  of  looking  after  Nora's 
father  ;  and  he  interested  himself  in  little  Madge  Carson, 
and  tried  to  help  her  in  his  own  kind  way. 

"  When  you  get  well  again,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  have 
to  overwork  you.  I  have  at  least  ten  books  waiting  to 
be  bound  by  you  —  and  you  only." 

She  was  recovering  her  health,  and  with  it  her 
courage,  and  she  told  him  she  owed  both  to  Nora. 
That  cheered  him.  One  afternoon  some  proofs  came 
of  an  important  chapter  on  the  "  Rise  and  Fall  of  the 
Inquisition,"  and  the  historian,  feeling  that  he  wanted 
sympathy  and  advice,  took  them  to  Roger's  home. 
Roger  was  out,  and  so  he  waited  in  the  study.  He 
had  not  been  there  ten  minutes  before  Nurse  Isabel 
called  in,  and  found  him  looking  disconsolate.  They 
had  met  several  times  since  Theodore  Bevan's  malice 
had  been  revealed  to  them ;  but  in  talking  over  the 
whole  subject  of  Nora's  infatuation,  engagement,  and 
escape,  they  had  never  once  referred  to  that  part  of 
the  story  which  affected  them  conjointly.  But  Nurse 

332 


Good  News 

Isabel  had  told  him  that  the  doctors  had  changed  their 
minds  about  her  moral  character,  and  that  in  con- 
sequence she  had  plenty  of  work  to  do. 

"  So  you  see,"  she  said,  gaily,  "  my  beautiful  and  in- 
herent worth  has  triumphed  over  evil  reports !  Quite 
like  a  fairy -book,  isn't  it  ?  " 

But  she  knew  what  she  owed  to  him,  though  her 
words  were  lightly  chosen.  And  now  they  sat  together, 
and  she  saw  some  printed  pages  in  his  hand. 

"  Something  you've  been  writing  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Part  of  my  new  volume,"  he  answered,  indifferently. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  that  you  are  getting  on  so  well  with 
it  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  a  lonely  thing 
having  a  career  and  nothing  else.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  any  success  is  worth  having,  unless  there  is 
some  one  with  whom  to  share  it." 

"  Then  you  feel  alone,  and  as  if  no  one  cared  ? "  she 
asked,  kindly. 

"  Something  like  that,"  he  answered. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  she  said.  "  You  have  had  a  hard  time 
of  it." 

"  Do  you  ever  write  to  her  ? "  Nurse  Isabel  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"  No,"  he  said,  without  looking  up.  "  I  don't  see 
how  I  can  write  to  her."  Then  he  added  :  u  I  have 
written  many  letters  to  her  and  torn  them  up." 

"  And  much  good  that  has  done  !  "  answered  Nurse 
Isabel.  "  Upon  my  word,  I  do  think  you  are  one 
of  the  densest  people  I  ever  met.  I  can't  see  where 
your  intelligence  comes  in.  I  suppose  you  use  it  all 
up  for  your  books.  Anyway,  let  us  hope  it  is  some- 
where—  perhaps  in  this  very  volume  —  though  I  doubt 
it !  Why,  of  course,  you  ought  to  write  to  her.  It 

333 


The  Fowler 

is  awfully  unkind  and  hard-hearted  of  you  to  remain 
silent.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  all  these  months 
have  gone  by  and  you've  not  forgiven  her  yet  ?  " 

"  Forgiven  her  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  Nurse  Isabel, 
what  are  you  thinking  of?  There's  no  question  of 
forgiveness  between  me  and  her." 

"  She  behaved  very  badly  to  you,"  Nurse  Isabel  said, 
with  assumed  warmth. 

44  No  one  shall  say  one  word  against  her,"  he  said. 
"  She  was  caught  in  a  net  and  could  not  escape.  That 
was  all." 

"  And  now  that  she  has  come  to  her  senses,  of  course 
she  is  feeling  miserable  about  you,"  said  Nurse  Isabel, 
without  heeding  him.  "  Any  woman  would.  And  she 
is  not  worse  than  any  of  us." 

u  Worse  than  any  of  you  ?  "  repeated  Brian,  ex- 
citedly. 

Nurse  Isabel  put  her  hand  to  her  mouth  to  conceal 
her  smile. 

"  And  the  least  you  can  do,  is  to  write  a  few  lines 
to  cheer  her  up  and  reassure  her,"  she  persisted.  "  If 
you  are  not  careful,  some  one  will  be  getting  in  front 
of  you  again  —  perhaps  a  North  American  Indian  this 
time  —  and  you'll  deserve  it.  You  are  so  very  slow, 
and  so  very  dense.  All  the  intellectual  people  I  have 
ever  met  have  been  entirely  without  a  gleam  of  in- 
telligence, but  you  are  the  worst.  However,  as  I  said 
before,  let  us  trust  that  they  put  it  into  their  books  — 
though  I  doubt  it !  If  they  do,  of  course  that  is  another 
matter.  For  one  can't  eat  one's  cake  and  have  it. 
Obviously  your  intelligence  has  gone  somewhere.  Don't 
you  see  for  yourself  that  she  will  not  know  how  to  meet 
you  unless  she  knows  how  to  greet  you  ?  Don't  you 
understand  that  she  knows  she  has  behaved  abominably 

334 


Good  News 

to  you,  and  that  she  is  thinking  all  the  time  that  she 
has  wounded  you,  and  alienated  you  for  ever  ?  Write 
to  her  at  once  and  comfort  her." 

Then  she  paused  a  moment,  and  added  gently : 

"  That  is  what  I  should  be  yearning  for,  if  I  were 
she." 

"  If  I  have  not  written  to  her,  it  is  because  I  have 
felt  so  sure  that  she  knew  I  was  waiting  for  her,"  Brian 
said.  "  It  never  entered  my  head  that  she  might  think 
I  had  ceased  to  wait  for  her  merely  because  she  had 
wounded  me.  When  one  loves  there  is  no  question  of 
forgiveness.  And  she  is  more  dear  to  me  now  than 
three  years  ago  when  she  came  to  see  me  at  the  Moat 
House.  Then  she  came  into  my  life  as  a  spirit  of  hope  ; 
and  she  has  remained  with  me  as  a  spirit  of  fulfilment. 
Even  if  I  am  never  to  see  her  dear  face  again,  nothing 
can  change  what  she  has  done  for  me." 

"  You  have  a  wonderful  way  of  loving,"  Nurse  Isabel 
said,  as  she  poked  the  fire. 

"  I  learnt  it  from  my  dear  mother,"  he  said.  "  She 
had  the  genius  of  loving." 

"  But  genius  is  rare,"  she  answered,  "  and  most  of  us 
have  not  even  any  talents  for  it,  though  we  may  think  we 
have.  We  soon  find  that  they  are  worn  out,  and  that 
nothing  remains  for  us  except  the  commonplace  of  for- 
bearance or  indifference  or  positive  dislike.  I  wonder 
which  stage  I  shall  reach  if  I  marry  my  agreeable  sea- 
captain." 

u  But  you  do  not  seriously  intend  to  marry  him  ?  " 
Brian  asked. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  said.     "  I  am  very  tired  of  nursing." 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

Isabel  laughed  softly. 

"  Ah,  that's  another  thing,"  she  said. 
335 


The  Fowler 

"  Have  you  ever  loved  ? "  he  asked,  with  curious 
persistence. 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  leaned  back  in  the  arm- 
chair. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  gently.  "  But  that  belonged  to  the 
Past,  if  one  can  speak  of  a  sacred  thing  as  ever  belong- 
ing to  the  Past.  One  ought  rather  to  say  that  it  per- 
meates the  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future." 

The  tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks,  and  she  did  not 
try  to  hide  them. 

"  Then  he  died,"  Brian  said,  sympathetically.  "  Poor 
Nurse  Isabel." 

"  No,"  said  Isabel.  "  It  was  not  that.  He  loved 
some  one  else  —  very  dearly." 

"  And  he  married  her  ?  " 

u  No,"  she  answered. 

"  But  he  may  yet  turn  to  you,"  Brian  said,  kindly. 
"  Don't  throw  yourself  away  on  some  one  for  whom 
you  don't  care.  You  are  too  good  for  that.  Wait  for 
the  man  you  love.  Put  all  the  best  of  yourself  into 
your  love,  and  make  it  so  strong  and  compelling  that  it 
will  conquer  in  the  end." 

She  had  risen  from  the  chair,  and  turned  from  him 
for  a  moment  to  pick  up  her  veil,  which  had  fallen  to 
the  ground. 

"  Ah,  I  could  not  have  influenced  him,"  she  said. 
"  Sometimes  I  have  thought  he  was  a  little  like  you  — 
only  not  so  slow  and  dense  —  but  then  he  was  not 
intellectual  —  with  a  fixed  idea  in  his  heart  and  brain. 
He  loved  the  woman  of  his  heart  much  in  the  same  way 
as  you  love  Nora:  it  was  part  of  his  very  life,  his  glory, 
his  manhood.  Nothing  could  have  changed  him, — 
neither  time  nor  circumstance.  And  I  knew  it.  But  I 
knew  also  that  my  unspoken  love  could  never  harm  him, 

336 


and  that  whatever  happened  to  me  in  life,  at  least  I  had 
not  missed  that  uplifting." 

"  I  have  always  thought  you  had  some  beautiful  bit  of 
romance  in  your  life,  Nurse  Isabel,"  Brian  said. 

"  Most  of  us  have  something  beautiful  hidden  away," 
she  replied,  "  but  we  are  ashamed  to  show  it ;  perhaps 
because  it  is  old-fashioned,  out  of  date,  or  has  a  crack  in 
it.  But  my  treasure  is  at  least  flawless,  for  it  is  an 
Ideal." 

u  And  now,"  she  said,  returning  to  her  usual  bright- 
ness, "  I  must  be  getting  back  to  my  patient.  She  is 
very  trying,  but  I  am  thankful  to  say  that  she  does  not 
want  to  be  read  to  out  of  geography  books,  and  that  she 
does  like  a  little  air  occasionally.  But  she  shares  the 
very  prevalent  belief  that  trained  nurses  are  trained 
never  to  sleep.  Isn't  it  funny  ?  Ah,  here  is  Mr  Pen- 
hurst  at  last  !  Now  I  shall  learn  whether  he  has 
been  carrying  out  his  promise  to  behave  more  like  a 
philosopher." 

But  there  was  nothing  of  the  quiet  philosopher  in 
Roger's  manner  when  he  saw  Nurse  Isabel  and  Brian. 
He  threw  his  felt  hat  up  to  the  ceiling  and  caught  it,  and 
seemed  to  be  dancing  around  like  any  schoolboy.  He 
was  in  the  very  abandonment  of  good  spirits. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  have  such  news,  I  have  such  news, 
I  can  scarcely  tell  it.  I've  seen  him  —  the  little  Bevan 
—  the  centipede  —  I've  seen  him  with  my  own  eyes  — 
sat  with  him  in  the  same  railway  carriage  —  " 

"  Where  ?     Where  ?  "  they  asked,  excitedly. 

"  On  the  Metropolitan,"  he  said,  sinking  into  his 
chair.  "  I  got  in  at  Gower  Street,  and  found  him  there 
alone.  He's  quite  alive  —  looks  in  excellent  health  — 
and  sunburnt,  as  though  he  has  been  on  a  long  voyage. 
And  I  said  to  him  politely : 
22  337 


The  Fowler 

" c  I  perceive  you  have  been  on  a  long  voyage,  but  not 
so  long  as  you  have  led  us  to  suppose.' 

"  Of  course  he  made  no  answer,  and  he  scurried  out 
at  Portland  Road,  leaving  me  in  a  state  of  exultation. 
For  now  that  burden  will  be  lifted  from  my  dear  girl's 
mind.  I  have  a  sort  of  feeling  that  I  behaved  like  a 
madman  for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  Anyway,  people 
came  to  the  carriage  door,  looked  at  me,  and  departed  in 
hurried  alarm." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  that  it  was  Theodore  Bevan  ?  " 
said  Brian. 

"My  dear  Uppingham,"  returned  the  old  man,  clasp- 
ing hands  with  him,  "  there  is  only  one  centipede  in  the 
world,  and  I  should  know  it  anywhere  !  " 

"  I  propose  that  we  telegraph  to  Nora,"  said  Nurse 
Isabel. 

u  Yes,  yes,"  they  cried, "  we'll  telegraph,  and  at  once  !  " 

And  they  all  three  set  off  together,  and  despatched 
this  cablegram  : 

"  Theodore  seen  in  robust  health  in  London  by  me. 
Cheer  up.  —  ROGER." 

Brian  went  home  to  write  to  her.  As  he  took  up  his 
pen,  he  thought  of  Nurse  Isabel. 

"  I  always  thought  there  was  some  romance  in  her 
life,"  he  said  aloud. 

He  smiled  as  he  recalled  her  warning  about  the  North 
American  Indians.  And  he  bent  over  his  lover's  task, 
and  forgot  Nurse  Isabel.  It  was  a  long  letter,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  he  wrote  : 

"  And  so  I  pray  that  you  will  forget  that  I  have  ever 
been  in  your  life.  Then  I  can  come  once  more  into  it, 
and  take  my  chance  as  any  stranger,  not  handicapped  by 
time  or  circumstance.  It  is  not  every  one  with  a  heart 

338 


Good  News 

full  of  love  who  prays  to  be   forgotten.      And  yet  I  pray 
thus,  in  order  that  I  may  have  a  clear  running." 

The  old  father  went  home,  and  touched  the  strings  of 
his  violoncello. 

"  Nora  will  come,  Nora  will  come  ! "  they  seemed  to 
be  singing. 

He  went  up  to  her  bedroom  and  fingered  her  books 
and  some  of  her  work,  which  had  never  been  moved. 
He  opened  her  cupboard  and  touched  two  of  her  gowns 
hanging  there. 

u  Ah,"  he  said,  tenderly,  "  she  must  have  some  new 
gowns  —  bright  ones.  I  must  consult  Nurse  Isabel,  — 
something  blue,  I  think." 

Then  he  crept  down  to  his  study  and  took  up  a 
volume  of  Spenser. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  sadly,  "  and  now  the  other  man  will 
take  her  away." 

And  Nurse  Isabel,  making  some  gruel  for  her  patient, 
dropped  some  salt  tears  into  it. 

"  He  will  never  know,"  she  thought.  "  But  I  shall 
always  love  and  bless  him.  No  one  can  take  that  from 
me.  It  is  my  own.  And  now  he  is  sitting  writing  to 
her.  I  can  see  the  smile  of  tenderness  on  his  face." 


339 


The  Fowler 
CHAPTER   V 

WEDDING    GUESTS 

IT  was  two  or  three  days  before  Mrs  Mary  Shaw's  mar- 
riage with  Mr  William  Parrington.  Mr  Parrington  had 
broken  his  solemn  promise  to  wait  patiently  until  Nora 
Penhurst's  return  to  England.  There  seemed  to  be  some 
excuse  for  his  perfidy,  since  he  had  been  courting  the  ob- 
stinate hostess  of  the  King's  Head  for  about  nine  years. 

"  Either  you  marry  me  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  October, 
my  birthday,"  he  said,  "  or  else  we  part,  and  you  never 
see  poor  Parrington  no  more.  Now,  my  dear,  take  your 
choice.  Be  careful  how  you  choose.  Remember,  you'll 
miss  me  very  much  if  you  send  me  away  for  ever  and 
evermore.  'Twill  be  a  terrible  thing  for  you." 

"  And  for  you  also,"  said  Mrs  Shaw,  pouting.  "  You'll 
miss  me  something  shocking." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Mr  Parrington.  "  I  shall  be  a 
lone  miserable  wretch,  and  die  of  a  broken  heart,  or 
else  of  the  bronchitv.  The  doctor  was  only  a-saying 
yesterday  that  my  days  was  numbered.  He  sees  a 
wonderful  change  in  me  —  he  do." 

"  Oh,  Parrington,  don't  talk  like  that ;  it  stirs  me  up 
dreadful,"  said  Mrs  Mary. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  be  no  fault  of  mine,"  he  answered. 
"  And  you  must  take  your  choice  and  abide  by  it." 

"  I  give  in,"  said  Mrs  Mary.  "  I'll  marry  you  with- 
out fail  on  October  twenty-fifth,  your  birthday  —  I  think 
you  said  it  were  your  sixty-second  birthday  !  You  see 
it  won't  be  for  long,  as  you  be  so  old  and  so  ill !  I 
give  in,  Parrington." 

34° 


Wedding  Guests 

Parrington's  eye  twinkled. 

"  All  right,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sure  you've 
decided  for  your  happiness.  And  I  am  sure  'twill  be 
a  comfort  to  you  to  think  it  be  only  for  a  short  time  !  " 

So  this  important  matter  was  decided  finally,  and  Mrs 
Mary  Shaw  wrote  to  ask  Mr  Penhurst  and  Mr  Upping- 
ham  to  the  wedding. 

"  I  shouldn't  feel  it  legal-like  without  Mr  Penhurst, 
bless  him,"  she  said.  "  He  always  promised  he'd  play 
the  organ  for  me  —  the  wedding-march  by  Mendelsome- 
thing  or  other.  I'm  not  a-going  to  give  that  up,  Par- 
rington  —  not  for  no  one." 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  said  Parrington.  "  But  don't  you 
dare  to  go  a-sweethearting  after  Mr  Uppingham,  who 
always  puts  you  in  mind  of  that  artist-chap  with  the 
light-brown  moustache  as  never  paid  no  bills.  Nothing 
of  that  sort,  Mrs  Mary  !  " 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  answered  Mrs  Mary  Shaw,  laugh- 
ing ;  and  the  invitations  were  sent  and  accepted.  Roger 
arrived  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  was  followed  on  the 
next  day  by  the  historian,  who  also  seemed  to  have 
cheered  up  wonderfully.  Their  minds  had  been  relieved 
of  a  great  burden  when  they  learnt  that  Theodore  Sevan 
had  not  committed  suicide.  Roger  was  very  quaint 
about  it ;  and,  inspired  by  the  certainty  of  Bevan's  un- 
impaired health,  wrote  some  doggerel  lines  called  "  The 
Centipede's  Death."  They  ran  as  follows  : 

"  There  was  a  wily  centipede  whose  name  was  little  Bevan, 
He  did  not  like  to  live  in  hell,  and  couldn't  live  in  heaven. 
So  he  took  up  his  abode  on  earth,  and  always  lay  in  wait 
To  sting  the  wretched  victims  assigned  to  him  by  fate. 
He  stung,  he  clung, 
With  all  his  might  and  main, 
Injecting  venom,  diffusing  pain. 

341 


The  Fowler 

But  after  many  years  of  work  the  centipede  fell  ill; 
No  longer  could  he  lie  in  wait  to  poison  or  to  kill. 
The  last  part  of  my  story  is  the  pleasantest  to  tell : 
The  centipede  was  driv'n  from  earth  and  forc'd  to  enter  hell!  " 

He  showed  them  proudly  to  Brian  when  the  historian 
arrived  at  the  King's  Head. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  some  of  his  old  fun,  "  you  didn't 
know  I  was  a  poet  —  did  you  ?  " 

"  We  must  send  them  to  Nurse  Isabel,"  Brian  said, 
laughing.  "  Here,  give  them  to  me.  I  will  copy  them 
out." 

"  Oh,  I  like  that,"  Roger  said,  gaily.  "  You  want 
to  pass  them  off  as  your  own.  I  shall  have  a  limited 
edition  of  one  printed  on  vellum  —  poet's  proof,  in 
fact !  " 

They  were  still  amusing  themselves  with  this  am- 
bitious production  when  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  came  into  the 
parlour  to  lay  the  cloth  for  supper. 

"  I  do  declare,  it  quite  enlivens  me  to  hear  your  cheery 
voices,"  she  said,  as  she  put  a  fresh  log  on  the  grate. 
"  I've  been  that  dumpsy  to-day." 

"  Why,  you  ought  to  be  in  the  best  of  spirits  now 
that  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  marry  Parrington  the 
day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Roger. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  bothering  about  that,"  said  Mrs  Mary, 
"  But  the  ancestors,  poor  creatures,  be  awful  sour- 
tempered  to-day,  and  great-uncle  keep  on  saying  :  c  Mary 
Shaw,  you  be  making  a  terrible  mistake,  and  you'll  live 
to  find  it  out.'  And  Aunt  Rebeccah  nods  her  head  and 
says  :  c  Ay,  ay,  Mary  Shaw,  you  be  making  a  terrible 
mistake,  and  you'll  live  to  find  it  out,  and  you  be  aging 
wonderful  quick/  'Tisn't  what  you  might  call  encour- 
aging-like,  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  is  it,  Mr  Uppingham, 
sir  ? " 

342 


Wedding  Guests 

"  And  what  does  Wullie  say  ?  "  asked  Roger. 

"  Oh,  Wullie  says :  c  Don't  be  a  goose,  mother ! 
Cheer  up.  Parrington  be  the  best  chap  as  ever  was,  and 
we'll  all  be  mighty  happy  together,  and  I  won't  give 
no  trouble  till  I  be  growed  up ! ' 

"  Hurrah  for  Wullie  !  "  said  Roger.  "  That  boy  will 
turn  out  trumps  yet.  I  am  much  afraid  that  you  will 
live  to  be  disappointed  in  him,  Mrs  Mary.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  he  will  never  consent  to  go  on  that  down- 
ward path.  You  will  have  to  bear  your  disappointment 
as  bravely  as  possible." 

"  How  you  do  make  fun  of  me !  "  said  Mrs  Shaw, 
laughing.  "  But  it  quite  braces  me  up.  And  to  think 
you've  both  come  down  special  to  be  present  at  my 
wedding.  I  take  it  very  kind,  Mr  Penhurst,  dear,  and 
Mr  Uppingham,  sir.  If  only  our  dear  Miss  Nora  was 
here  too.  'Twould  round  everything  off  for  me,  and 
I'd  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world.  But,  you  see, 
Parrington  wouldn't  wait." 

"  Ah,  if  only  she  were  here,"  the  two  men  thought, 
as  they  looked  dreamily  into  the  fire. 


343 


The  Fowler 


CHAPTER   VI 

NATURE'S  PROMISE 

IT  was  one  of  those  radiant  days  in  the  late  autumn, 
when  summer  returns  as  a  welcome  intruder  and  lends 
a  golden  lustre  to  all  the  beautiful  colouring  on  the 
moors  and  in  the  lanes  and  by  the  winding  river.  The 
withered  brown  leaves  smiled  their  answer  to  the  sun's 
warm  greeting.  The  reddened  branches  gleamed  like 
fire.  The  reeds  in  the  river,  bowing  to  the  gentle  wind 
and  murmuring  soft  words  of  welcome,  were  tipped  with 
bright  jewels  of  light.  Away  on  the  hill,  at  the  back 
of  the  King's  Head,  the  pines  were  illumined  with  floods 
of  sunshine ;  the  carpet  of  sombre  cones  and  needles 
glistened  in  the  tender  embrace  of  the  strong  warm 
rays.  There  was  a  softness  in  the  air,  and  a  soothing 
fragrance  of  dampness  —  autumn's  own  especial  charms. 
Summer  and  autumn  were  spending  the  day  together,  and 
Nature  was  well  pleased  to  see  her  beloved  children  in 
harmony. 

Roger  and  Brian,  faithful  comrades  as  ever,  strolled  out 
together,  their  steps  leading  them  by  instinct  to  Nora's 
favourite  haunts.  When  they  spoke,  it  was  of  her  only. 

"  This  is  a  day  after  her  own  heart,"  the  old  man  said, 
as  they  sat  near  the  weir  and  watched  the  rush  of  clear 
sweet  water.  "  If  she  were  here,  she  would  say  that 
there  was  a  sort  of  mystic  promise  in  the  air :  I  feel  it 
myself." 

"  And  I  feel  it,"  Brian  answered. 

"She  will  come  back  soon,"  Roger  said.  "I  am  ex- 
344 


Nature's  Promise 

pecting  at  any  moment  to  have  a  message  to  say  that 
she  has  started  homewards." 

Brian  made  no  answer.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
words  he  had  written  to  her : 

"  Let  me  come  as  a  stranger  into  your  life" 

They  lingered  for  some  time  by  the  river,  and  then 
turned  off  in  the  direction  of  the  moors,  and  came  slowly 
back  to  the  village.  Just  as  they  were  nearing  the 
King's  Head,  Mrs  Mary  Shaw  hastened  out  to  meet 
them.  She  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  but,  from 
the  radiant  smile  on  her  face,  it  was  evident  that  she  was 
not  the  bearer  of  ill-tidings. 

"  Something  wonderful  have  happened  !  "  she  cried, — 
u  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you.  Davy  went  to  the 
station  this  morning,  all  unbeknown  to  any  one,  and 
brought  back  —  " 

The  old  man  looked  up  and  saw  a  dear,  gallant  figure 
approaching  him. 

He  ran  forward. 

"  My  Nora,  my  own  beloved  girl !  "  he  cried. 

"  Oh,  father,"  she  cried,  "  my  old  sweetheart  of  a 
father  !  "  And  she  held  him  in  her  strong  young  arms. 

Brian  stood  apart,  as  one  stunned. 

She  went  up  to  him,  and  put  out  both  her  hands  to 
him. 

"  Not  as  a  stranger  !  "  she  said,  and  her  voice  thrilled 
through  him. 

He  lifted  her  outstretched  hands  and  pressed  them 
reverently  to  his  lips. 

THE    END 


345 


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